


Life Had Just Begun

by HopeCoppice



Series: Falling From Grace [5]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Genderfluid Character, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Kid Fic, M/M, Other, brief non-consensual alteration of Effort, tags will change
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-21
Updated: 2019-10-27
Packaged: 2020-09-23 15:48:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 25,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20342653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HopeCoppice/pseuds/HopeCoppice
Summary: Crowley and Aziraphale's daughter grows, and they grow with her. Their lives aren't entirely free of complications yet, and may never be, but they're getting there.Collection of moments and developments from Grace's youth. You'll probably need to read the rest of Falling From Grace if you haven't already!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Here it is - a bit more adorable Grace for your reading pleasure. Enjoy!
> 
> Thanks to Twisha for your comment on Didn't Mean To Make You Cry, which inspired this first chapter.

“She’s perfect.”

It's not the first time Crowley has said such a thing, leaning over Aziraphale’s shoulder as the angel holds a bottle for his daughter. Aziraphale smiles absently, watching her little fists flail as she tries to hold the bottle herself.

“She is rather, isn’t she? Must take after you that way.”

“Must take after _ you. _” Crowley scoffs. “Perfection’s more your side’s thing, angel.”

“_My _ side? What happened to _ our _ side?” He lays his head backwards until it connects with Crowley’s chest. _"This _is our side. And she definitely takes after you.”

Grace goes back to sleep after her feeding - she sleeps a lot, still being so tiny - and Aziraphale tucks her into the little Moses basket to one side of the sofa as Crowley settles himself on his other side.

“I still think she gets her perfection from you. Or - both of us, at least.”

“Nah.” Crowley smiles fondly at the sleeping baby. “She probably won’t take after me at all. Adam doesn’t.”

Aziraphale laughs, surprised when Crowley doesn’t join him. “Oh, good L- you’re serious.”

“Yeah, I’m serious. I guess I have weak genes or something, that’s fine. Better, really, because - well, you know, they don’t want to be like _ me_.”

“You think - you _ honestly, truly _think - that Grace won’t take after you at all, because Adam doesn’t?”

“Well, it stands to reason-”

“Firstly, the circumstances were very different with Adam. Secondly, have you actually _ met _ your son?”

Crowley looks, for a moment, as though he might be about to argue the semantics of Adam’s parentage, but then what Aziraphale has actually said seems to reach him.

“Have I-? _ Yes_, I’ve met him, what’s that supposed to mean?”

“He’s _ so _like you, Crowley. He takes after you in so many things he couldn’t have got from any of his other parents.”

“Oh yeah? Name one thing.”

“_One! _” But Crowley isn’t looking at him, and that won’t do. Aziraphale reaches out to turn his face towards him, waiting until those beautiful yellow eyes meet his. “Let’s see. He’s curious, like you. Brave, like you. Kind-”

“‘M not kind.” The protest is half-hearted at best, and Aziraphale treats it with the complete disregard it deserves.

“-kind, _ like you_. And he’s very, _ very _good at getting in and out of trouble. I can’t think where he might have got that from.”

“I am good at getting into trouble,” Crowley admits. “Do you really think he’s like me?”

“Honestly, it’s frightening sometimes. He takes after you in a great many ways, my dear, and I haven’t the slightest doubt that Grace will do likewise.” He leans in, then, to steal a kiss. “And Somebody help us when she does.”

“Ha! Yeah. Yeah, that’s a terrifying thought.”

But Crowley doesn’t look terrified. In fact, as he settles more comfortably against Aziraphale’s side, he looks rather pleased.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set a few weeks before Adam's birthday party.

Crowley has been yelling at the apple tree. He's been yelling at most of the garden, actually - how  _ dare  _ it be less than perfect when his daughter's eyes can focus now, when she can sit up and look around as long as someone supports her back - but he thinks he's made his point, and he feels as though he's been away from Grace for too long. 

He and Aziraphale are working on the constant anxiety, the gnawing fear that eats away at him whenever his daughter is out of his sight, but it's a slow process. It doesn't mean he's not coping very well, Aziraphale assures him. Crowley tries to believe him, but it's hard not to feel like a failure when even the thought of taking his daughter to his godson's birthday party fills him with dread.

_ They're going to want to hold her. They're going to want to take her from me. _

He knows the worst he has to fear from anyone at the gathering is Shadwell insisting on a nipple count, and he's even been assured that he didn't do any such thing upon meeting the Pulsifer twins, but the thought of handing Grace over to  _ anyone _ makes him feel sick. Some days, he even flinches away from Aziraphale, though it's usually after a nightmare. Aziraphale, to his credit, tells him he understands; makes them both cocoa and snuggles against Crowley to drink it. By then, Crowley's usually calm enough to hand Grace over without a fuss. He feels awful about those occasions; Aziraphale insists that he doesn't mind, but Crowley knows it hurts. Aziraphale is Grace's parent, too - he deserves to spend time with her without Crowley messing it up. It's one of the reasons Crowley decided to menace the garden today. 

He misses her, though, and he misses Aziraphale, and if that's pathetic he doesn't care. He slinks into the cottage and stops, arrested by the beautiful sight that greets him as he reaches the kitchen and peers around the living room doorway. Aziraphale is sitting on the sofa, Grace in his lap and a book on the coffee table in front of him. It's not one of her picture books; it looks old, as if it might have come from the shop in Soho. Aziraphale is obviously reading, but that doesn't stop him from chatting away to Grace at the same time.

"-so you see it's no wonder Papa's a little overprotective of you, but it's very sad that he's so worried. And we want to help him get better so he can be happy, don't we? Now, your clever Daddy used this book to make sure he understood what happened to Papa, a long time ago, but it's been a while… Let me see. Ah, see, here's what it was.  _ Giving away… no intention to take the child back.  _ I know, Gracie, it sounds harsh, but poor Papa didn't know. Nobody told him Adam was his, you see. And it makes sense that he's afraid to hand you over, when he thinks it could happen again. But this  _ intention to take you back  _ business, that could be the key..."

Crowley steps backwards, suddenly aware that if Aziraphale turns around and sees him there, the moment he's sharing with their daughter will be broken. And what a moment it is; Aziraphale gets precious little alone time with Grace, and he's wasting it on trying to fix Crowley. It's almost too much for the demon's heart to bear; he will never be worthy of so much love.

"You know, he loves you  _ so _ much," Aziraphale continues, "and so do I. And there's nothing either of us wouldn't do for you. No, nothing at all. Your future is so bright, darling girl, we'll make sure of it. You're already so wonderful. I never could have imagined I could have this. I'm so glad to get to see you grow." Aziraphale chuckles. "Now, I think Papa can protect himself if he just tells anyone he gives you to that he intends to come back for you, but that's going to sound a bit odd unless we find a way to say it casually. Hmm. So if someone asks to hold you, your Papa can say no, of course, or he can say…  _ Yes, but I'll come back for her.  _ No… too obvious, people might question it.  _ Yes, but only for a little while?  _ No, that's too clingy. He's got a reputation to think of, after all.  _ Yes, I'll take her back-  _ What's that noise, Gracie?"

Crowley makes a fair attempt to stuff his entire fist into his mouth, trying to stifle the sob that escapes him. He slides down against a counter, ignoring the way a drawer handle digs into his spine, and holds his breath in the hope that Aziraphale will ignore the interruption. He didn't  _ mean  _ to burst into tears, after all, but Aziraphale takes such good care of him; hearing him try to find some combination of magic words that Crowley can carry like a talisman in his heart, to keep him safe… it makes all the love he's felt for 6000 years threaten to pour out of him at once, overwhelming him. Before he knows it, there are scalding, shameful tears streaming down his cheeks - utterly undemonic, to say nothing of undignified - and he wants nothing more than to throw himself into his angel's arms, but he won't because Aziraphale needs his time to bond with Grace. Crowley crowds them enough as it is.

He lifts his head as a gentle hand touches his cheek, and finds two pairs of wide blue eyes fixed on him.

"Crowley, my dear, why didn't you come in? Do you need Grace?"

"Need  _ you _ ," Crowley manages, still trying to mentally threaten his tear ducts into obedience. "Both of you, you're… 'm so broken, and you're trying…"

"You, my dear, are anything but broken, despite everything. And as for Grace, you only have to ask and you can give her all the cuddles you want."

For a moment, Crowley feels as though he's been stabbed with a blessed blade, shocked by the cruel power play of making him ask permission to hold his own daughter. But then he remembers that Aziraphale doesn't toy with him, especially when it comes to his children, and that he is safe with his angel. Grace reaches for his face, grabbing wildly, and he gives in.

"Can I-?"

"Of course," Aziraphale tells him, eyes twinkling, "I'll just have her back later." Then he deposits his daughter safely in Crowley's arms and wraps his own around the pair of them. "How did that sound?"

"Wonderful," Crowley whispers, and as Grace's flailing hand connects with his cheek he begins to laugh, a huge weight beginning to lift. "Reckon I can learn to do that?"

"Not a doubt in my mind," Aziraphale promises, and dodges around their daughter's wayward limbs to steal a kiss.

In this moment, Crowley doesn't have any doubts either.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just as a heads up, guys, I'm writing a few chapters ahead of what I'm posting and this gets to be less light-plotless-fluff quite soon. There will still be fluff! Just also plot. So, yeah. Just a warning. This one's cute, though. Enjoy!

Aziraphale walks into the living room one day to find Grace alone, lying on her back in the middle of the floor. She's on the blanket they always spread out for her to play on, but she certainly shouldn't be unattended; Crowley is supposed to be looking after her. Aziraphale has only been gone for half an hour - checking on the shop - but he should have known better. Crowley must have been recalled to Hell, leaving their daughter alone in the cottage.

Then the blanket moves, a familiar scaly head popping out from one edge and sticking its tongue out at Grace. She squeals, delighted.

"Graesssss!" It should probably be a frightening sound, but Grace burbles happily and grabs at the enormous snake which, Aziraphale now realises, is curled around the edges of the blanket. Grace has recently discovered that she can move around by rolling, and it seems Crowley has decided to use his own serpentine body as a barrier to contain their wayward child.

Grace has her tiny limbs wrapped around the snake's head and is trying to roll away with it; Aziraphale is uncomfortably reminded of a crocodile's death roll.

"Crowley, my dear, that doesn't look at all comfortable."

Crowley freezes, caught in the act of tussling with his daughter, and Aziraphale realises he's embarrassed. In fact, if snakes could blush, he's certain Crowley would be doing so. Grace lets go of her serpentine parent and he draws back until it's safe to take humanoid form again.

"I wasn't scaring her-"

"Really, Crowley? Look at her, she's clearly terrified." If his sarcastic tone doesn't give away his lack of concern, the eye-roll should - but then Crowley can be utterly stupid about these things, and it seems this is just such an occasion.

“She’s- oh no-” But however prone to panic Crowley might be, there’s no mistaking the way Grace giggles and reaches for him. Crowley scoops her up and kisses her face, then pointedly turns his back on Aziraphale. “Daddy’s being silly, isn’t he, Gracie?”

“Dadadadada.”

For a moment, everything freezes - except Grace, who’s now flailing her arms over Crowley’s shoulder. Then Crowley beams, passing Grace into Aziraphale’s arms, and Aziraphale can’t stop smiling as she continues to babble at him. She’s been making sounds for some time, of course - sometimes, she almost sounds as though she’s speaking a recognisable language - but this is the first time she’s actually said _ dada _ , even if she has got a bit carried away with it. Aziraphale spares a moment to check on Crowley - she’s said it to _ Aziraphale_, after all, the flailing makes that pretty clear - but the demon is clearly bursting with pride.

“She said _ dada_, our clever girl!”

“She did. She really did,” Aziraphale confirms, stroking his daughter’s soft, wispy hair. “You taught her,” he points out, and Crowley laughs.

“You don’t have to share this one, angel.”

An hour later, Grace hisses to get Crowley’s attention, and the demon bursts out laughing.

“Now that… _That,_ I may have accidentally taught her.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're going to be a bit more Crowley-and-Aziraphale focused for a couple of chapters, but Grace is obviously still here. Enjoy!

Crowley has been sitting in the same place, watching Grace as she babbles at _ Show Me Show Me_, for over an hour. This is a clear sign that something is troubling him; no adult in their right mind can withstand an hour of _ Show Me Show Me _ without gently redirecting their child to something else, despite its unparalleled ability to enthrall an infant. Even Aziraphale, blessed with Heavenly patience though he is, starts getting irritable after 45 minutes, and Crowley, despite his best efforts, is _ not _blessed with Heavenly patience. It’s not even the kite episode, which the demon finds funny for some reason. So Aziraphale steels himself against the overly-cheery singing and the forced smiles of the presenters and sits down beside Crowley. The demon is a captive audience, since Grace is propped up against his legs, but he’s also in possession of the remote control and has made no attempt to use it. Aziraphale takes it into his own hands.

“Shall we watch some _ Paw Patrol _instead, Gracie?” Aziraphale changes the channel, and Grace doesn’t seem to have any objection. Crowley doesn’t even blink. “What’s going on, dear?”

“Hm? Just watching TV with Grace.”

“Really, my dear. It wasn’t even the episode you _ tolerate_.”

“Oh. I was thinking.”

“I knew it. Always dangerous.” Aziraphale smiles reassuringly. “Anything you want to talk about?”

“Maybe. Once we’ve got Grace down for her nap.”

So it’s not until half an hour later, when Grace is tucked up in her cot and Aziraphale has made them each a cup of tea, that Aziraphale turns to Crowley expectantly once again.

“Well, my dear? The floor is yours, if you want it.”

“Yeah.” Crowley doesn’t look at all certain that he _ does _want it. Aziraphale is about to back down, to reassure his demon that he’s quite entitled to keep his thoughts private, when Crowley blurts out, “I’ve been this for so long.”

“This?” Aziraphale doesn’t think he can be talking about the fact that he’s a demon; Crowley has always been - mostly - at peace with that.

“All… man-looking. _ He_, and all that. It’s… I mean, it’s all right? For you, I mean. You like it?”

“I do,” Azirapale assures him, “because I love _ you_. Is it all right for you?”

“I don’t know.” Crowley sighs. “I’m not… I’m not sure any more. I mean - it comes and goes, you know that. Me. This whole… gender thing, I’ve never…” He trails off, and Aziraphale nudges him gently in reassurance.

“Never really settled to one. I know. But it _ has _been a while, dear. I did wonder…” He stops, realising it’s not his place, and waits for Crowley to continue, but it seems he’s caught the demon’s attention.

“Wonder…?”

“Well - you said something, when… right before Grace was born. You said you, er-” He hesitates, searching his memory for the exact words Crowley used. He doesn’t want to get this wrong, not when Crowley seems so anxious. “You said you _ couldn’t be her_. I just… I didn’t want to pry, my dear, but perhaps I should have asked you what you meant, once all the fuss had died down.”

“It’s not- it’s stupid. I know that. It’s just- he- Satan- he liked… _ her_. Me, being a her. And after- With Adam, and everything- I just… I couldn’t face it.”

“It’s not stupid,” Aziraphale murmured, “quite understandable. I can’t even imagine.”

“Yeah, well. Thing is, I can’t… I can’t just _ make _myself comfortable as I am. So I’m… stuck, I suppose.”

Aziraphale squeezes his hand, frowning as he turns his mind to the problem. There must be some way for Crowley to feel like himself - or _ herself_, if that’s better - without causing him too much trauma.

“Is there anything in particular that makes you uncomfortable, my love? About either option?”

“Well, going on as I am… it feels like being stuffed into an old skin, one I’ve outgrown. It just… doesn’t feel right. And then- if I changed- I…” Crowley grimaces. “I don’t really know what you mean.”

“Well… er… for example, are you uncomfortable with the pronouns _ she _ and _ her_? Or… or would you prefer to be _ she _, but wear more, ah, traditionally masculine clothing? Or-”

“Oh. Oh, no, none of that is- it’s- _he_ liked…” Crowley swallows hard and makes a vague gesture in the direction of his own crotch. “The… er, archetypal _ Eve _ configuration. And, er, I- he- having that just reminds me of-”

It seems so sudden; one moment, Crowley sounds mildly frustrated, and the next he’s curling in on himself, choking back sobs, leaning away from Aziraphale as if he thinks he might throw up. Aziraphale rubs his back, mutters soothing nothings, and waits; this is not the first time he’s seen Crowley this upset, though it is the first in a long while. It takes a minute or two for him to recover enough to speak.

“-of being with _ him_, and him betraying me, and- and laughing at me- and _ Adam_-”

“It’s all right, dear. It’s all right. You’re safe here, you’re with me.”

“Sorry,” Crowley croaks as he begins to pull himself together. “Sorry, I- Somewhere’s teeth, I’d been doing so well.”

“You’re still doing well, dear. So well, you’re doing such a good job of telling me what’s wrong. You don’t have to go on, if you’d rather not. I just want to help you, whichever way is best.”

“It’s the parts,” Crowley says, sounding as though the words taste foul in his mouth. “I can’t- I can’t cope with them.”

“Then, my dear, might it be better to keep the, ah, _ parts _you have now and change the rest as you see fit?”

Crowley stares at him blankly for a long moment, and then, as if it takes a great deal of effort, blinks.

“Keep… right. Right, yes, I suppose… I could do that, couldn’t I?”

“Mix and match, as it were,” Aziraphale clarifies, “find something comfortable for you.”

“I could. I could do that.”

“Only if you’d like, of course. Have you ever-?”

Crowley makes a choked sort of noise, blushing like a maiden, which Aziraphale finds very sweet considering that he’s personally explored every inch of him, many times. “Yeah, once or twice. It’s not the safest way to go around- especially before.”

“We’ve lived through some rather unenlightened times,” Aziraphale agrees. “It’s only a suggestion, my dear. Do you think it might help?”

“Er. Maybe. I’d have to try it, I suppose. Would you-?” He takes a deep breath. “Would you mind, if I did? If I looked different?”

“Of course not, my dear.” He reaches out to touch Crowley’s cheek. “I love _ you. _ The very _ essence _of you. Everything else can change with the seasons, for all I care.”

“Then- then would you stay with me, while I work it out? In case- in case I’m wrong and it’s too much.”

“I’ll be here for you, Crowley. Always.”

“But Grace- do you think Grace will mind?”

“She’s seen you turn into an enormous _ snake_, I think she can cope with a few more feminine touches.”

“Right. Yeah. OK. I’ll, er… right.”

“Or you can just change your pronouns, if you’d pref-”

But Crowley has a look of intense concentration on his face, and Aziraphale watches as his corporation _ ripples_, his form fluctuating through a few variations before it settles into one Crowley seems happy with. He’s widened his hips ever so slightly, his chest filling out just a little, and all hint of stubble has been removed from the sharp jaw Aziraphale is so fond of. Crowley thinks for a moment, his eyes resting on Aziraphale’s curious expression, and then the angel hears himself give a little _ Oh! _of delight as Crowley lets his hair fall in waves around his shoulders. Aziraphale has always dearly loved Crowley’s hair long, no matter how his adversary was presenting at the time, but he’s never dared to voice an opinion on the subject in case Crowley thought he wanted him to change. Now, though, Crowley seems pleased with his reaction. Very pleased, in fact.

“You like the hair?”

“I _ adore _your hair, Crowley. You must know that.”

“You, er… do you like the rest? I can… I mean… I want you to like it.”

“I do. I like it enormously. Do you?” Crowley takes a moment; considers his whole corporation through the reflection in the dormant television screen.

“Yeah. Yeah, I think I do. Can I… I mean… I’d like to use _ she _pronouns, for now.”

“Of course, dear. Of course.”

Crowley still seems hesitant, though, as if she’s afraid to smile too soon. Aziraphale gives in to temptation and reaches out to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear, surprised when Crowley leans her whole head into his touch.

“Something you want, dearest?”

“Kisssss me,” Crowley whispers, and Aziraphale is only too happy to comply. He has a whole body to relearn, and he knows he will have to wait to become acquainted with most of it; they have a sleeping baby to think of, and her afternoon naps don’t last long these days. He does, however, make time to run his hands down Crowley’s back, noting the slight difference in her shoulders, and then, when Crowley guides his hands to her front and up under her shirt, to feel out the changes there, too.

“So beautiful,” he breathes, the words passing directly from his lips to Crowley’s, less than a breath away. “Still so beautiful, my Crowley-”

“You don’t mind? You really- you really like it?”

“I love you, foolish serpent. All of you, and every variation of you.” Crowley’s eyes close, a beatific smile lighting up her face, and Aziraphale is about to indulge in a little exploration of that long, shapely neck when a cry from Grace’s little bedroom interrupts them.

“No rest for the wicked,” Crowley murmurs, but she hangs back on the stairs as Aziraphale scoops their daughter from the cot and kisses her nose.

“What’s going on, Grace? Ah. Nappy time. Hold her for me, dear, I’ve put the wipes down somewhere again.” He hands Grace to his lover without even thinking, and only realises that he should have been more wary of Grace’s reaction when she fails to have one. Crowley, however, tenses up as though she’s just been handed a small, adorable bomb.

He tries not to seem concerned, watching in a nearby mirror as Grace slowly reaches out to her parent’s face. Crowley looks utterly terrified, as if she’s afraid her own child won’t recognise her after such tiny cosmetic changes. Grace’s tiny hand rests on Crowley’s cheek for what feels like an eternity - though of course it can only really be seconds - and then, with a smile as bright as the sun, their little girl _ hisses_.

Crowley almost collapses from sheer relief, bursting into a fit of relieved giggles as Grace, pleased with the attention, continues to make her very best snake noises. Before long, Aziraphale is laughing too, wipes retrieved and family settled.

It isn’t until later, when Crowley is attempting to convince Grace that her spoon is an aeroplane loaded with delicious squishy food, that Aziraphale realises how _ relaxed _the demon looks, how at home she is in her own skin. Crowley had always seemed comfortable, but now that Aziraphale thinks about it, that sense of ease has been lacking for some time. Perhaps even since the Apocalypse. Satan’s betrayal must have struck something in Crowley’s very core, corrupting a part of her identity that she had always embraced and loved, and Aziraphale has been oblivious. Now, though, he sees a part of Crowley that was locked away returning, and all he can do for his beloved is show her that she is loved, whatever face she shows the world.

Between himself and Grace, Aziraphale is confident that they can do that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I suspect I'm about to find out if any of you spend a lot of time with young children... Show Me Show Me, for the record, is like baby crack but also very, very annoying to adults (at least, me). It does occasionally go a little viral, though, because the pronunciation of 'kite' in one episode came out sounding - to the filthy-minded - rather like a rude word for something Crowley's reluctant to equip. If you get my drift. (Paw Patrol, on the other hand, is a genuine delight.)
> 
> I'm on Tumblr @sameoldsorceress if you want to come and say hello!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for a little internalised transphobia/anxiety on Crowley's part. Hopefully nothing too bad but I'd rather people were forewarned unnecessarily than triggered because I didn't warn you!
> 
> This is very slightly nearer to sexual content than the rest of this fic so far, so if you'd rather not read that I suggest skipping to the bottom notes and scrolling up maybe a paragraph just to get the gist of what's happened. It's all fade-to-black though.

Crowley doesn't know what to expect, the first time they go to bed after her change. She takes a few extra moments in the bathroom, miracling herself up a lacy slip - nothing too provocative, nothing to suggest that Aziraphale _ should _ rip it off of her, but certainly a pretty enough little number that she can almost believe he _ might_.

She doesn't look very different, really, despite the modest swell of bosom she's given herself, the slight curves to her body that should just _ nudge _ people's assumptions towards her current identity. Still, she worries. Aziraphale is, in many ways, quite old-fashioned, and she's not sure he'll find the combination of _ woman _ and _ penis _ as acceptable as he seems to think, in practice. She's not certain she _ wants _ him to find her _ acceptable_. She wants, above all, for Aziraphale to be _ attracted _to her.

There's a knock at the bathroom door, and Crowley turns from the mirror to open it. Aziraphale's jaw drops as he takes in the sight of her and then, rather than standing aside to let her leave, he moves further into the room with her, pulling her into a burning kiss.

"Angel-?" It's all she can think to say when they break apart, but Aziraphale blushes as deeply as if she's scolded him.

"I'm sorry, my dear. I didn't mean to intrude. I just… would you mind… I would so very much like to make love to you tonight."

"I- yes- angel- angel, you know it's still, I've still got-"

"Outdoor plumbing? Naturally, dear." He moves behind her, guides her until she's facing the ludicrously large mirror she insisted the bathroom needed. She regrets it now, forced to look at her own body and wonder if Aziraphale wants something _ different_, something _ better_. "Look at you," Aziraphale breathes in her ear, and one of his hands leaves her hip to brush over the barely-noticeable bulge in the slip. "Look as _ I _ do."

Startled, she meets his eyes in the reflection, bright with love, dark with lust. She lets her own gaze wander, and sees herself anew; shoulders she thought too skinny become slender and delicate in the angel's eyes, hair she had thought of banishing from her legs rendered soft and inviting under his scrutiny. She considers the matter, then banishes it anyway; she wants to feel the smoothness of her own skin, just for her. Aziraphale doesn't object; he might not even notice, busy as he is pressing kisses to the sensitive spot just where Crowley's jaw gives way to her neck. 

Crowley could just melt away in Aziraphale’s arms, really, she could, but she wants more. She wants to know that he really wants her, despite all her apparent contradictions, despite the fact that she doesn’t look exactly the way she did when they woke up this morning.

“Angel- please-”

“Yes, my love. _ Yes_.”

He actually _ scoops her up _ and carries her to their bed, lowering her to the mattress with infinite care and tenderness. She lies there and stares up at him, afraid he’ll reject her, afraid he’ll lose interest when he really _ looks _ \- but then he’s helping her out of her slip, setting it carefully aside, and even Crowley can’t read the look in his eyes as anything other than sincere, urgent desire. He reaches out to touch her face, and she nuzzles into his hand as if she’s never been touched at all, as if she’s starving for it. She _ is_.

“May I, dear…?”

“Please.” She runs a hand through his short curls and feels him shiver. “Please do.”

His hand shifts, exploring the soft curves of her upper body until it reaches the hardness between her legs, knows exactly what to do to make her feel good. Then he lowers his mouth to her chest, finding her more sensitive there than before, and Crowley knows. Crowley _ knows _ she is loved, she is wanted.

Later, when they have thoroughly reaffirmed their physical attraction to one another, Crowley curls close to her angel, her head on his chest as her eyes begin to close.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale murmurs, “I do love you.”

“I love you more,” she whispers, and lets sleep take her. There will, no doubt, be days when she’s not sure she _ can _be loved, when she is riddled with guilt and fear and shame. But they will not stem from this, from her body, from the way Aziraphale looks at it. She can trust this. She can trust him.

_ Of course,_ a treacherous little voice at the back of her mind whispers, her last conscious thought, _ you’ve thought that before. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, guys, I'm sorry. You should probably just stop trusting me, to be honest.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short(ish) update tonight, but I wanted to thank you all for being lovely and not yelling at me for the emotional turmoil (which is, er, gonna continue for a bit).

Aziraphale has Grace on his lap and is listening solemnly to her babbling when he hears the click of Crowley’s heels in the hallway. She’s pacing, as she often does when she’s speaking on the phone - or, as in this case, waiting for a call to connect. The sharp noise of shoe against tile stops suddenly, and he hears Crowley’s voice.

“Adam. Hi. Sorry, are you busy?” The click of heels resumes and Crowley passes out of earshot, perhaps into the front garden. Aziraphale can picture her settling on the bench under the apple tree, or prowling circles around her flowers, daring them to disappoint her while she talks to her godson. He smiles at Grace.

“Is Mummy talking to your brother? Is she talking to Adam?”

“Ada,” Grace agrees wisely, before continuing to make nonsensical - if somewhat musical - noises.

“That’s good, isn’t it? It’s nice to talk to people we love.” Grace babbles at him some more, as he hoped she would, and he smiles back at her. “Oh, that’s lovely of you to say, Grace. I love you, too.”

“...no, nothing, really - forget I said anything.” Crowley clicks back through the hall, and then her voice begins to recede again. “Just thought you might like to see my new look…”

“Your mum gets quite fidgety when she’s on the phone, doesn’t she, Gracie?” But Grace, it seems, has had enough of the conversation; she’s visibly drooping, long overdue for a nap after all the rolling around she’s been doing. Aziraphale scoops her up and heads upstairs, Crowley’s voice following them as she passes back into the hall.

“Tomorrow? Yeah, I can- hang on, let me check with- angel, where are you?”

“Putting Gracie to bed,” Aziraphale calls, “what’s up?”

“Mind if I pop up to Tadfield tomorrow?”

“No, that’s fine. Want us to come?”

“Oh, no, no need for that, you two stay here and have fun. Yeah, that’s fine, Adam…” She hesitates. “Er- unless you want to see Grace, that is.”

Aziraphale realises that he’s eavesdropping, now, and eavesdropping while holding a baby, which is a sure way to get caught. He walks into Grace’s room as slowly as he dares, and hears Crowley clack off towards the front door again.

“No, just me, then. No, really, it’s- yeah, maybe. Would you…”

Half an hour later, Aziraphale is lying on their bed with a book when Crowley potters in, tosses her phone aside and slumps onto the mattress with a sigh.

“Do you, er… I don’t suppose you need to do anything at the bookshop tomorrow?”

“Hm. Not particularly. Why?”

“I, er, I was wondering if you’d mind me taking Grace to Tadfield after all.”

“No,” Aziraphale assures him, “not at all. Big brother changed his mind, then?”

“Er… well, you know, it’s good for them to see each other. Especially when she’s too young to be confused about the whole thing. I don’t have to-”

“No, that’s fine. Do you want me to come with you? Extra pair of hands, and such?” Crowley’s face falls. She ducks her head quickly to focus on removing her shoes, but Aziraphale  _ sees  _ her face fall and hurries on. “Only if not, I’ve got a few jobs I wanted to do around here, next time I’ve a free moment.”

“Oh. Oh, well, no, I won’t take you away from your plans. We’ll be fine on our own.” She sounds relieved; it stings.

“All right, dear. If you’re sure.”

Crowley, now free of her shoes, swings her legs onto the bed and shuffles closer until she can rest her head on Aziraphale’s chest.

“I love you, angel.”

“I love you, too, my dearest.” But something doesn’t feel right; something doesn’t feel right at all. Crowley stays there, letting Aziraphale read over the top of her, for another hour before Grace wakes up and she goes to see to her. In all that time, Aziraphale doesn’t read a word, doesn’t turn a page. And in all that time, Crowley doesn’t seem to notice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come and talk to me on Tumblr @sameoldsorceress if you like!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had a bit of a reshuffle so this is a shorter one again.
> 
> Warning for some very anxious and self-loathing thoughts from Crowley.

Crowley hesitates before strapping Grace into her car seat. She doesn’t _ need _ to take the baby with her; of course she doesn’t. She can leave her here with Aziraphale - with her _ father_, in her _ home _ \- and know that both angel and child will be right here waiting for her when she comes back. She’s about to take Grace back indoors, to tell Aziraphale that she’s been terribly stupid and that of course he should spend some time with their daughter while she visits their godson, or else come with them and make a family day out of it, when she remembers that Aziraphale has things to do today. He won’t want to abandon those plans because Crowley has changed her mind about her own. So she straps Grace in, and she kisses Aziraphale goodbye, and she drives away slowly in the direction of Lower Tadfield.

She thinks, for a brief, mad moment, about leaving the country. Taking Grace - and Adam, if he’ll come; she can pick him up first - and just driving and driving until she’s far from anyone who might try to take her children from her. But there’s no outrunning Satan, and she knows that Aziraphale would search the whole universe for her before he gave up, whether she had Grace with her or not. And she would miss Aziraphale terribly. She loves him, and he would never hurt her. He would never tear her away from her beloved children.

_ You idolised Satan, once. You thought he cared for you. He took Adam from you. _

She shakes her head, trying to clear it of the horrible thoughts that won’t seem to leave her alone. Aziraphale is not Satan. He’s not just using her body, he’s not trying to use Grace as some sort of pawn. Crowley is safe with Aziraphale, and so are her children. Her _ child_, and her godchild, she reminds herself irritably. In the years since she found out about Adam’s original parentage, she’s done fairly well at keeping the distinction in mind. Having Grace, though, seems to blur the lines; how can she call Grace her daughter and Adam her godson when both are equally made of _ her _ _?_ And all she can think is that she should grab them and run; something has gone very wrong in her mind, spurred on by that one errant thought a few nights ago. How very typical of Crowley's brain, to sabotage her just as she feels truly accepted and safe in her own skin. It's not Aziraphale that's plotting against her, it's her own twisted psyche. 

Aziraphale is Grace's father, and the love of Crowley's life. How can she even think of taking Grace away from him? That would make her as bad as Satan - and there's the rub, isn't it? Crowley _ is _as bad as Satan, always has been. She's a demon, a monster, not like Aziraphale. Not like Grace. She's not worthy of either of them, and one day Aziraphale will realise that. One day, he'll take Grace away.

Grace hisses softly from the back seat, and Crowley forces a smile her daughter can't even see.

"Don't worry, Gracie. Mummy's just- I'm just nervous, probably, about Adam seeing me. He hasn't seen me looking all… all girly, I suppose. Not sure what he'll make of it. I suppose we'll find out soon enough." They're pulling into the usual car park outside Lower Tadfield as he speaks, and she's surprised to see Adam already waiting for them, leaning on a picturesque drystone wall with Dog at his feet.

Crowley brings the Bentley to a smooth halt and does her very best to pull herself together.


	8. Chapter 8

Aziraphale waves Crowley and their daughter off as they drive away, then wanders back into the cottage with a frown.

Something strange is going on with Crowley, and he’s not sure if it’s the same thing they’ve already discussed - lingering discomfort with the gender she had been presenting as, or perhaps a newly-discovered dissatisfaction with her current presentation - or whether something else is wrong. Crowley had seemed so _ happy_, when he’d taken her to bed in her newly-altered body, so relieved that he accepted her, that he loved her just as much in this new form. Aziraphale doesn’t understand how it can all have gone so wrong so quickly.

But something _ is _wrong, he knows, as he stands in the hallway and stares aimlessly ahead. Crowley doesn’t want him around her, doesn’t want him to be left alone with Grace. That latter part is more or less normal; Aziraphale has got used to Crowley needing to be around her daughter at all times - at least close enough to be called back quickly if she’s needed. They both prefer that, actually, since Heaven hasn’t yet made any move to recall Aziraphale as Hell had Crowley. News of the Creation must have reached them, by now; they’re bound to want to know what’s going on at some point. If Aziraphale gets an urgent summons back to Heaven, it’s best that Crowley be around to take Grace. Aziraphale doesn’t want her in Heaven’s clutches any more than Crowley does, after all.

But a trip to Tadfield is usually something they’d do together. Even before Grace came along - and it’s sometimes hard to remember that less than a year ago, she didn’t even exist - they’d always gone along together. Aziraphale understands that Crowley might want some time alone with her godson, but then-

He can’t help but remember what he’d overheard of Crowley’s phone conversation. She’d asked Adam if he wanted her to bring Grace, he was sure of it, and he was equally certain, with hindsight, that Adam hadn’t been particularly bothered either way. Crowley had wanted to see him, had been quite insistent about it, and that’s not unusual in itself - but then she’d reacted the way she had to Aziraphale’s offer to go with them. Usually, two pairs of hands are better than one when travelling with Grace, but on this occasion - Crowley’s face had _ fallen _ , as if she’d just stepped into a trap she didn’t know how to get out of. It had been second nature to help her out of it, to pretend he had better things to do and she’d be doing him a _ favour _ by going alone, but now Aziraphale has several lonely hours ahead of him, and nothing to do but wonder _ why _ she’d reacted that way.

No, that’s not true. He can find things to do. He can tidy the house, for example, and if he doesn’t use too many miracles that might even take him an hour or so. He can read, though his mind keeps wandering back to Crowley and what on earth he might have done to so upset her. He can survive on his own; he used to go decades at a time without a glimpse of his ancient adversary.

Even then, he used to worry.

Aziraphale sighs wearily and goes in search of a book to stare through. Crowley will talk to him when she’s ready.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to come and chat on Tumblr @sameoldsorceress! You can yell at me for my short, angsty chapters. Or not. Either works!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a bit longer. Enjoy!

The moment the engine switches off, Adam leaps up and makes for the back door. Crowley flinches as the teenager reaches for his sister, but he just ruffles her hair.

"Hey, Gracie. You're getting big. Learnt any new tricks lately?"

"She's not a dog-" Crowley points out, but gives up as Grace hisses proudly. She supposes that _ is _a new trick, of sorts. "Remember who this is, Grace?" By the time she gets out of the driver's seat, her daughter is babbling happily.

"Adadadada."

"Is that- are you saying _ Adam__?"_ He's clearly thrilled, but steps aside without a fuss so Crowley can release her daughter from the seat. She quickly swaddles Grace into a sling that sits her just on Crowley's hip, then turns to Adam as if to dare him to laugh. He doesn't. She rolls her eyes.

"Oh, hello, Crowley, nice to see you-"

"Of course it is," Adam assures her, "but you've _ always _been able to say my name. Not as exciting when you do it." He grins cheekily, and Crowley forces herself to return the smile rather than thinking about how hard it had been to say Adam's name at first, once she'd found out who he was.

"All right, cheeky. So, what do you think of the new look?"

"Yeah, it suits you. I like your hair."

"I've been hearing that a lot," Crowley admits, "I don't think I'll ever be allowed to cut it short again."

They walk, by mutual and unspoken agreement, around the edge of the village, avoiding the probable wrath of the Neighborhood Watch and the general chaos of the Them, who’ve recently picked up some babysitting hours with the Pulsifer twins.

“Brian’s best with them,” Adam tells Crowley, “Pepper gets annoyed too fast, and Wensleydale’s always afraid they’ll mess up his science. You know, ‘cos of how Newt blows up computers.”

“Ah, yes. You never know, I suppose.”

“We’re pretty good babysitters, though, when we all work together. If you ever want, we could take Grace for a bit-” Adam’s eyes widen, and Crowley realises she’s put a protective arm around her daughter.

“Oh- sorry- I don’t- it’s not-”

“No, it’s all right, I get it.” Adam’s frowning, clearly hurt, but he’s doing his best to be understanding. That only makes Crowley feel worse. “And we’ve got school, soon, anyway, so…”

“It’s not- it’s not a bad idea,” Crowley tells him, “I just, it’s me. I’m… not doing so well, with Grace. With letting her out of my sight. It’s not personal.”

“Is that why you wanted to bring her today?” Crowley nods, ashamed, but Adam doesn’t laugh at him. In fact, he barely reacts at all; they walk for five minutes in silence - broken only by Grace’s soft snoring - before Adam speaks again.

“Crowley,” he begins, and then stops, eyeing her warily. Crowley knows they both hear the unspoken word that hangs in the air. _ Mum. _

“Hm?”

“Am I… like him?” It takes a moment for that to make sense, and then Crowley hastens to reassure him.

“Nothing like him.”

“I don’t upset you? Now I’m older? You’re not worried I’ll turn into him?” Oh, the damage her overprotectiveness has done. In trying to safeguard her daughter, she’s hurt her son.

“No. Never.” Adam looks relieved; Crowley isn’t sure what makes her keep talking. “Just sometimes Aziraphale.”

“Why would I turn into Aziraphale?” For a moment, they’re both as baffled as each other.

“Huh-? Oh. No, you’re right, that’s stupid. Forget I-”

“...You’re afraid he’ll turn into Satan?” Adam stares at her for a few seconds, apparently waiting to be contradicted. “That _ is _stupid.”

“Is it?” Crowley snaps, then immediately regrets it. “No, I’m sorry- it is, you’re right. But-”

“Are you afraid he’ll take Grace?”

Crowley shouldn’t be having this conversation; she certainly shouldn’t be having it with her son, the very son who’s right at the heart of all her fears. But Adam is perceptive, and stubborn, and if she doesn’t explain herself he’s likely to try to get answers from Aziraphale. He might assume that Aziraphale has done something wrong. Crowley will never let anyone assume that about her angel.

“He’s got every right,” she tells him, “and he would never do that to me. He _ never _would.”

“Then why don’t you believe that?”

“I _ do_. I do believe it. But Adam- Adam, before I found out about you, I never thought _ he’d _ hurt me either.” Crowley grits her teeth, stares up at the sky as if it might help her to keep from crying. It works, to some extent; she doesn’t cry. But she doesn’t feel better, either. “Learning that I’d lost you- it was terrible. I can’t go through that again. I’m _ terrified _of losing another child, and I can’t seem to help it.”

For a moment, there’s total silence. Crowley keeps her eyes fixed on the sky and hopes she’ll just discorporate from embarrassment soon. Adam is close enough to catch Grace, if that happens; he’ll call Aziraphale and get her home. But then she hears the crunch of small pebbles on the path, Adam moving slowly and no doubt deliberately to the side of her where Grace isn’t.

“You haven’t lost me.” His voice is quiet, but firm. “I’m right here… Mum.”

Crowley stiffens. She has wanted to hear that word for so long, wanted her place in Adam’s life, and now that she’s heard it she wants nothing more than to cling to it forever. But it’s not right. Adam pities her, and she’s proud of his compassionate nature, but he’s not there to fix her problems. He’s not obliged to do anything for her.

“You have a mother, Adam. Don’t-” She doesn’t know what she means to say. Don’t lie to her? It’s not a lie. Don’t get her hopes up? Don’t offer what he can’t afford to give?

“I do. But you don’t only get one mum, full stop. Pepper has two mums, now, why shouldn’t I? Or two dads, if you prefer. And you never meant to give me up, you never did anything wrong, or hurt me, or tried to make me end the world-” He stops, and when he speaks again it’s the fear in his voice that brings Crowley crashing back to Earth. “That is- I mean, unless you don’t want me?”

“Oh, S- G- _ honestly_, Adam. Of course I- I haven’t wanted anything _ more _ than to be your mum, since the moment I found out you were mine. But you _ don’t_. I know that, I accept it, I’m- it’s fine, that I’m a godparent.”

“But you’re not, are you? You’re my _ mum_. I know you missed a lot, but… he made me out of _ you_. And Grace… she’s a lucky kid.” Adam smiles fondly at the sleeping child. “So can we just… I mean, obviously I can’t tell my parents you’re my other mum, but they also don’t know I’ve been calling you my godparent, so… will you just be my mum, please?”

Crowley nods, stunned, and is almost knocked off her feet by the force of a fifteen-year-old boy throwing himself at her for a hug.

“I don’t know what to say,” she admits, hugging him back, and Grace wakes up with a confused little noise, no doubt indignant that Crowley has had the audacity to _ sway _ slightly. Adam holds the hug for just a few seconds longer, then dares to scoop Grace out of the sling. Crowley almost resists, almost clings to her daughter and won’t let go, but she hasn’t given her up; even if Adam ran off into the hills with his little sister right now, she would still be Grace’s mother. She would still be _ their _mother, both of them. So she lets Adam bounce Grace in his arms, lets the sound of him telling Grace that they’re real, proper siblings wash over her, and leans back against the nearest wall.

“Adam, are you all right with her for a bit? If I stay right here?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“I’m calling Aziraphale to come and get us.” She can’t drive when she’s emotional, not with Grace in the car. She _ won’t_, and she knows Aziraphale won’t ask her to. “It’ll take him a couple of hours to get here, though, so until then, we’re all yours.”

“My family,” Adam grins, “the second one.”

“Technically…” But she’s teasing, already selecting the contact saved as ‘Angel’ on her phone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh - and just to be clear, I don't think biology is the be-all, end-all of being a family. Adam has his parents, the Youngs, and is just letting Crowley back into a similar familial role because that's how they've been for the last few years and it feels right. Satan remains very much not his dad. So, yeah, wanted to make that clear.


	10. Chapter 10

Aziraphale hijacks a bus to get to Lower Tadfield. He’s a little anxious, actually, about being asked to drive the Bentley - and with Grace in it, as well - but Crowley sounded rather shaky on the phone, and she so rarely asks for help. With a little miraculous assistance, he’s in Lower Tadfield only two hours after receiving Crowley’s phone call, the bus driver stopping his vehicle on the road down to the village before driving off towards his next scheduled stop, which is Piccadilly Circus. The poor man is probably a little behind schedule by now; Aziraphale miracles some money into his pocket and hopes it’ll help to make up for it.

It doesn’t take him long to find Crowley and Adam; he just follows the unmistakable noises of a small, excited dog until he stumbles across them. Crowley is leaning against a tree, Grace in her arms, watching Adam run Dog through a series of rather impressive tricks. Crowley grins at a particularly good jump.

“You should go in for _ Britain’s Got Talent_, you know.”

“Better not,” Adam shrugs, “I don’t _ think _ I still have any powers, but I don’t want to risk it. It wouldn’t be fair.”

“Wow. Aziraphale would be very proud - and so am I,” Crowley assures him, which Aziraphale takes as his cue to make his presence known.

“I _ am _proud,” he agrees, “though I certainly can’t take any credit.”

“Course you can, we’ve been taking credit for things for years,” Crowley snorts, and then she seems to actually realise that he’s arrived. “You came.”

“Of course. I said I would.”

“Your plans-”

“Nothing I couldn’t rearrange. You sounded a little upset, on the phone, dear. Is everything all right?”

“Everything’s _ wonderful_, angel,” Crowley tells him, and though _ she _ seems sincere, Adam looks as if he’s fighting to control his own expression.

“And are you all right, Adam?”

“_ I’m _ fine,” Adam assures him, “but I’m gonna go. You and Mum need to talk.”

“Your mother-?” Aziraphale looks around, somewhat guiltily; he’s met Deirdre Young a couple of times, and she seems lovely, but it might be hard to explain why he and Crowley have come to meet a teenager on a deserted path outside the village.

“Me,” Crowley clarifies, and there’s a catch in her throat, “but there’s nothing to talk about, besides whether or not we’re going out for dinner.”

“Yeah?” Adam looks defiant, and now that Aziraphale looks at her, so does Crowley. They face each other down for a moment, and then the former Antichrist shrugs. “Alright. Give Grace to Aziraphale for a minute, and I’ll admit I’m wrong.”

“What does that prove?” Crowley’s glaring at Adam - Adam, who has just called her _ Mum _ \- and Aziraphale suspects he ought not to take sides, but he _ has _missed Grace in the four or five hours since he last saw her.

“I wouldn’t mind a cuddle, actually,” he admits, and Crowley freezes. Aziraphale watches every muscle in her body tighten, pulling the baby almost imperceptibly closer to her own body. She shifts her weight back slightly, leaning more firmly against the tree. Leaning more firmly away from Aziraphale. And that’s when Aziraphale realises that Crowley didn’t come to him, the way she usually does, when he greeted her. It’s not as though he couldn’t have gone to _ her_, of course, but it’s a habit they’ve fallen into over the years; Crowley comes to Aziraphale, every time, since their very first meeting. Aziraphale has never been able to beat her to it, and so he gave up trying, somewhere along the way, but today Crowley has stayed resolutely where she is, and now she’s shrinking away from him.

“Go on, then.” Adam hasn’t looked away from Crowley, and Aziraphale wonders if there’s still some sort of lingering Hellish protection attached to him, because no other teenager would be able to stand up to Crowley’s current expression. It’s not even an angry look, really; it’s just so _ betrayed_. But then Crowley, very stiffly, takes two steps towards Aziraphale and shifts Grace into his arms. She stays close, one hand on Aziraphale’s arm, and she raises a defiant eyebrow in Adam’s direction.

“I’ll just have her back later,” she says, quickly, as if she can’t help it, and Aziraphale’s stomach lurches. He presses a kiss to Grace’s forehead, hands her back to Crowley, and nods his thanks to Adam. The lad has a point, and Aziraphale is determined to find out what’s wrong with Crowley. Why she’s guarding herself and her daughter even against the being who loves her more than anyone in the world.

Adam hugs them both goodbye and leaves; they strap Grace into her carseat in the back of the Bentley and slide into the front seats. Aziraphale takes his time adjusting the seat and the mirrors - Crowley twitches uncomfortably to his left - and then waits, making no attempt to start the car.

“Angel, it doesn’t move unless you actually _ drive _it.”

“I’d like to know what’s wrong, first.”

“I- angel, I’m just… Adam called me _ Mum_. That’s all, I’m just too giddy and shaken to drive with Grace in the car.” It’s a lie; Crowley so rarely lies to him, and yet Aziraphale can _ tell_.

“You don’t _ seem _very giddy.”

“Demon.” That’s no answer, and they both know it. But whatever is bothering her, it seems Crowley is in no hurry to share. Aziraphale puts the car in gear and resolves that they will discuss it properly when they get home.

“He called you _ Mum_,” he points out with a grin as they pull onto the motorway, and Crowley grins back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still around @sameoldsorceress on Tumblr, reblogging lots of fanart and generally talking nonsense if you want to come and join me.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a short one (but it has some Grace in it, so it's cute) and the next one should be up soonish.

Grace sleeps all the way home, and starts grizzling as soon as they get her out of the car. Aziraphale lets Crowley get her out while he goes to make food for her. Then he lets Crowley feed her, because his angel is every bit as capable of understanding what Crowley needs as Crowley is of understanding what Aziraphale needs. Right now, though, their collective priority is what Grace needs, and what Grace needs is to be fed spoonful after spoonful of peas, which are her current favourite thing.

After her dinner, Grace settles on her blanket and stares up at the ceiling, watching the stars projected above her head.

“I made that one, Gracie.” Crowley points, even though the stars on the ceiling bear no resemblance whatsoever to those in the sky above them. “And that one.” Their daughter watches the stars for a while, then solemnly rolls onto her front, bum in the air.

“I think she’s trying to crawl, you know.” Aziraphale scoots a little closer to Crowley on the sofa. “I can’t wait until she can.”

“You’re going to be a nervous wreck, angel,” Crowley points out, but she leans against Aziraphale’s side until he puts an arm around her. It’s a nice feeling; calming. She feels better than she has in days.

They watch as Grace attempts to lift herself up on her little arms, over and over until, at last, she gets frustrated and gives up.

“Do you want a hand, Grace?” But Grace glares at Aziraphale for daring to imply she can’t do it herself, and the angel bursts out laughing. “Oh, she’s definitely your daughter, dear. No other infant could be so stubborn.”

“I think, actually, they’re sort of known for being stubborn,” Crowley points out, and Aziraphale laughs again.

“She’s got your glare. Oh, Crowley. You know that only proves my point.” Crowley is indeed glaring at him, but it’s worth proving the angel right when he leans in and kisses the pout from her lips. “My dear Crowley.”

It’s not long before Grace falls asleep again, bum still pointed resolutely at the ceiling, and they carry her up to bed together, tucking her in and bidding her a good night.

“Sweet dreams,” Aziraphale whispers, and Crowley bends to kiss her daughter’s head, tucking her little teddy in beside her. For a moment, as they creep out of the nursery and into their own room, Crowley almost forgets that Aziraphale wants to talk; she’s about to unbutton her shirt and give him something quite different to think about when the solemn expression on his face hits her.

_ Oh, Somewhere,  _ she thinks, but she’s not afraid. Talking about the things that frighten her is hard, but Aziraphale has never been anything less than perfectly understanding and sympathetic.

“You want to talk,” she whispers, and Aziraphale smiles gently.

“Your son seemed to think we should.” It’s a cheap shot, and it works; Crowley’s heart feels a thousand times lighter than it did, the world a little brighter.  _ My son.  _ Her son wants her to belong with him again, and that’s almost enough to set the whole world to rights.

“All right. But kiss me first?” Aziraphale, of course, gives her exactly what she wants. Then they sit on the bed, side by side, and Crowley searches for the words to explain what’s been going on.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time for a talk!

Aziraphale has been trying to hide his concern since the moment they said goodbye to Adam. Crowley has been clinging to Grace harder than usual, he knows, over the last few days, and Aziraphale has assumed it’s just her usual insecurities playing up. If Aziraphale had had a child stolen from him, he imagines he’d have some fragile days, too. But if Adam has noticed, if Adam thinks there’s something they should talk about… the boy is perceptive. And he’s not, usually, wrong about Crowley. Even before he called Crowley _ Mum _\- and Aziraphale will have to ask her about that, once they’ve got to the root of the problem, especially since it’s bound to cheer her up - he’s always had something of a sixth sense for what she needs to hear. Aziraphale thought he was similarly attuned, but perhaps he’s been wrong to leave Crowley to handle things. It’s just that he rather thought she might come to him for help if she needed it.

“You don’t _ have _ to tell me anything, if you don’t want to,” he reminds her, as the silence drags on, but Crowley shakes her head.

“We do better when we talk about things. Right? I mean, look at- six thousand years, and we never really talked about how we felt until it was almost too late.” She has a point; Aziraphale settles himself more comfortably against the headboard and Crowley settles more comfortably against his side. Her head is on his chest; he drops a kiss into her hair, just because he can. “I’ve been… struggling, a bit. Lately.”

“I had noticed,” Aziraphale murmurs, “but I didn’t know it was so bad Adam would pick up on it.”

“I know. I shouldn’t have dumped all that on him. I just, I didn’t want him to think it was something you’d done.”

“Something _ I’d _ done?” Aziraphale supposes he should have considered the possibility; had he made Crowley uncomfortable with his frank appreciation of her new body, or insulted her without meaning to, somehow, or - God forbid - _ hurt _ her? “Was it?”

“No!” Crowley reaches up to touch his face, draws him in for a kiss before resuming her former position. “No, it’s… it’s all Satan’s fault.”

“So many things are.” Aziraphale smiles wearily, but Crowley sighs.

“And my fault. I was so happy, the other night - so glad you still found me attractive - so glad to be able to be myself, however I wanted… I let my guard down. And my brain- I just- I trust you, you know that? I’d trust you with my life, my whole existence.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” But Crowley isn’t finished.

“Only… I trusted _ him_, too.”

Aziraphale’s whole body stiffens as he realises what she means, and he focuses very hard on untensing each and every muscle, trying to seem unaffected. Crowley needs to talk about this - _ he _needs Crowley to talk about it, too, suddenly - and she won’t if she thinks she’s hurting him. He hums softly, an indication that he’s listening, that he’s not upset, as his brain starts working overtime.

“And I know it’s different with you,” Crowley continues, “and there’s no reason at all to be scared, but sometimes it’s as if I _ don’t _know, and that’s when- well, I just couldn’t seem to leave Grace behind while I went to Tadfield, and I needed to see Adam. I wouldn’t have done it, of course. I would always have come back.”

“Sorry? You’ve lost me, dear.” He understands not wanting to leave Grace with him; he even understands wanting to see Adam without him in tow. But he’s not sure what Crowley wouldn’t have done, and a horrible churning sensation is beginning to make itself known inside his stomach.

“I got in the car, to go to Tadfield, and I thought, _ I should just run. _ ” Crowley’s eyes are wide, her face turned up towards Aziraphale’s own. “It was like something inside me just went _ take the kids and run away_, and I couldn’t- I mean- I couldn’t seem to shake the thought that I might make the same mistake again. That I trusted you too much, and you might take Grace away, because I’m a demon and I don’t deserve you-”

“I’d never take Grace from you,” Aziraphale tells him, and Crowley shakes her head.

“I know. I know that. But I never expected Satan to do what he did, either, and demonic brains, they’re not really wired to let us be happy-”

“So you’re still worried about it.” Aziraphale realises his tone is too flat, hurries to correct himself. “That’s quite understandable, my love, but it’s much easier to help you if you _ tell me _you’re feeling this way. I’d have been more careful to make sure you didn’t feel threatened.”

“You don’t threaten me,” Crowley tells him, and the open adoration in her eyes makes Aziraphale feel as though his heart is going to crack open, painful shards lodging in his chest. “It’s just stupid instincts, I- I know you’d never-”

“But you thought that before,” Aziraphale finishes for her, and kisses her forehead so she won’t see the look in his eyes.

_ Something inside me just went 'take the kids and run away'. I never expected Satan to do what he did, either. _

“Thank you for telling me,” Aziraphale manages, and then, as casually as he can manage, “I don’t think I’ll sleep tonight; I didn’t get all the reading done that I meant to, earlier.”

“My fault,” Crowley tells him softly, apologetically. “I, on the other hand, feel like I could sleep for days. Will you stay with me until I nod off?”

“Of course.” It’s always a pleasure, this bedtime routine; he watches absent-mindedly as Crowley leaves the room, comes back in her slip and burrows under the covers. Tonight, it doesn’t make him smile the way it usually does; his heart doesn’t race with lust or affection. Tonight, his heart pounds with adrenaline, and it’s a struggle to keep himself still and contained while Crowley settles on the other side of the bed. She is beautiful; she has always been beautiful. She is the love of his existence, as she has always been. She is peaceful, in sleep, the cares of the day smoothed away from her face by the caress of silk sheets and soft pillows.

But when Crowley’s breathing evens out, Aziraphale slips away. He doesn’t fetch a book; he goes straight to Grace’s room, takes a seat beside the crib. He looks down at his daughter, sleeping with one tiny thumb resting against her lips, at the wisps of red hair finally beginning to take over her head, at the toy duck she’s squashing beneath her other arm, and he cries his heart out as quietly as he can. He’s not quiet enough; she stirs, blinks at him uncertainly with those eyes so like his own, and he gathers her into his arms, shushing gently.

“There, there, Grace, it’s all right. Daddy’s got you.”

When she goes back to sleep, he doesn’t return her to her cot; he sits and holds her and watches her make tiny snuffling noises in her sleep.

_ Today, I might have lost you, and I never even knew it. Today, my love, I almost lost you. _

Because that’s what Crowley had said; she had wanted to take Grace and run, to get her away from _ Aziraphale_. She had thought Aziraphale wanted to steal their daughter from him, and she had nearly stolen her first. She meant to protect herself - but today, Aziraphale nearly lost his daughter, and understanding Crowley’s fear does nothing to ease his own.

Crowley has never been selfish; in all the time Aziraphale has known her, she has _ always _ considered Aziraphale, too. When they’d begun the Arrangement, Crowley had taken pains to make sure that it was never discovered. When Aziraphale had been too afraid to love her, Crowley had kept a respectful distance, waited for him to catch up. When they’d made Grace, Crowley had hesitated at the last minute, holding herself back from something she so desperately wanted just to make sure that Aziraphale wanted it to. Aziraphale supposes he’s got rather used to Crowley thinking about him before he acts.

Crowley did not think about him today. Aziraphale’s certain of it. She thought, no doubt, of the threat of loss, of the awful possibility that sharing Grace meant she might lose her, as she had lost Adam. But he doesn’t think, for one moment, that Crowley considered the fact that if she ran, if she tried to protect herself from that unthinkable loss, she would be taking Grace away from _ him. _ If she had considered, for one second, that Aziraphale would lose his daughter, she wouldn’t have even finished her thought.

Or maybe she would. Maybe this is it, the breaking point, the point where Aziraphale ceases to matter in the chaos of other concerns. Crowley’s children mean so much to her; if it comes to a choice between them and Aziraphale, Crowley will choose them every time, and she’s right to. Aziraphale would do the same; that’s why it hurts. Crowley would leave him and take Grace with her, to keep Grace safe. And he would lose them both.

That’s not the only reason it hurts, of course. It’s petty, he suspects, to be upset about Crowley not trusting him. To be upset that she thinks he would ever hurt her like that, ever betray her. He shouldn’t be upset that she compared him to _ Satan himself _as if they were the same, because it’s just the trauma talking. Crowley has been through Hell in more ways than one, and of course that’s affected her. Of course she’s terrified that history will repeat itself. Of course she’s frightened of everyone who could possibly take her child away, and of course Aziraphale is no exception.

  
It’s only that he had rather hoped he _ was_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, feel free to yell at me on Tumblr @sameoldsorceress.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brace for angst.

Crowley wakes alone, and isn’t surprised. Aziraphale rarely stays in bed to read; he’ll be downstairs, no doubt, sitting at his desk with a lamp illuminating some fantastic story or other - or a centuries-old textbook he’ll insist is equally fascinating - and probably won’t move until morning. Sunrise can’t be far off; she’ll make him a cup of cocoa. He likes it when she surprises him with little gifts or little favours - as if it’s still a surprise, as if she hasn’t been doing it for six thousand years and more.

Grace’s nightlight isn’t spilling into the hallway like it usually does. It’s a miniscule, comforting sort of glow, and Crowley imagines her daughter will scream the house down if she wakes to find it’s gone out. But as she steps in through the open door to fix it, she realises that the nightlight is still shining merrily in its corner; it’s merely blocked by the shape of Aziraphale, sitting in the chair beside their daughter’s cot, Grace in his arms.

_ Guarding her. Guarding her from me. _

“Angel?” She speaks softly, afraid that any sudden noise or movement might hasten Aziraphale’s flight. He must be planning to leave, mustn’t he? To keep Grace away from Crowley. To stop Crowley from keeping her. He’s going to take her, and it will all be Crowley’s fault.

_ No. No, he’s just sitting here. Just sitting in the dark with our daughter. Everything’s fine. _

But in the split second it takes her to think all that, Aziraphale _ jumps_. He turns his body to face the door, arms wrapped protectively around Grace, and Crowley knows _ fear _ as she has never known it before. Aziraphale wants to protect Grace from _ her_, and that means he’s going to want to take her away. He’s going to want to get their daughter as far from Crowley as he possibly can, and make sure Crowley never sees her again.

Maybe he’s right. That’s what terrifies Crowley the most, because she wants Grace to grow up safe and happy. Maybe what she needs - maybe what Adam needed, all along - is the chance to have a childhood free of scary snakes and demonic parents, to be raised by good people and allowed to grow into her natural _ goodness_. Crowley isn’t _ good_, can never _ be _good.

But she can't lose Grace.

"Angel? What's going on?"

"Oh, I'm just sitting with Grace." Aziraphale smiles, but it's not as reassuring as Crowley usually finds it.

"Right. Are you… gonna put her back in her cot? So she can sleep?" She _ is _ sleeping. It doesn't matter.

"Not yet, I don't think. I'm rather enjoying holding her."

"Guarding her," Crowley corrects him, taking a step into the room. "Why?"

"I'm not- I just- I just want to hold her, Crowley, just for a bit. To know she's here, and safe."

"Safe from me?"

She's sort of expecting a denial, there. Her stomach seems to take its own little freestyle dive when she doesn't get one.

"Safe _ with me_, Crowley. I nearly lost her today." The accusation stings as surely as if he'd slapped her.

"You didn't- I never- I never even turned off the road to Lower Tadfield-"

"But you were going to. What stopped you? Needing to pick up Adam? It wasn't the thought of me, was it?"

"I never-"

"I'm sure you didn't." Aziraphale stands, places Grace back in her cot with infinite care, and then plants himself firmly in front of it. Crowley's not sure if he even realises he's taken up a protective stance like the one he assumed at the Eastern Gate. "You never thought about how _ I _would feel, waiting here until I realised she was never coming home."

"And what about me?" Crowley takes a step forward as she speaks, side-stepping slightly, and Aziraphale moves with her to block her way. Her heart is hammering; he is keeping her from her daughter, just as she feared.

_ Never trust anybody, Crowley. They take things from you. They take your children. _

"Of course. I'd be devastated, Crowley, to lose either of you. To lose _ both _ \- for you to _ take Grace _from me-"

"I-" That's not what she was doing, that's not it at all. She never wanted to take Grace from Aziraphale, only to make sure he couldn't take her away from _ her_. But the angel presses on, another step closer to Crowley, his voice so soft she can barely hear it.

"You know what that feels like. You would have done that to _ me_."

Blood rushes in her ears; he's _ right,_ she's nearly hurt him the way Satan hurt her, and that's unforgivable, she's unforgivable. She has ruined everything, hurt Aziraphale; she will never get to kiss him again, never wake in his arms, never hold Grace-

She lurches forwards, trying to reach her daughter one last time, at least to say goodbye, but Aziraphale shifts and she can't get past. She falls to her knees on the cold floor, and the tears that spring to her eyes have nothing to do with the pain of the landing.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't leave it like that for too long...
> 
> I am running low on buffer chapters for this one, so updates may slow down, but here you go.

Aziraphale holds his ground as he argues with Crowley; she would never leave Grace, but if she gets hold of their daughter she might walk out with her and this conversation - as much as it seems it has got out of hand - is too important to let her walk away from. Besides, what if she never comes back?

Crowley darts forward, and he moves without thinking to block her path. It's been a while since he's guarded anything, but it's what he was created for; he's running on an instinct as old as Eden.

But then, suddenly, Crowley is kneeling at his feet, begging him for mercy.

"Please, I'm sorry, I was just- please don't take her away from me."

"_You _ were going to take her," Aziraphale hears himself say, though every fibre of his being is urging him to apologise, to do anything it takes to chase the tears from Crowley's eyes. "You would have taken her from _ me_."

"I didn't- I _ wouldn't- _I was scared, please- please just let me hold her, one last time before you take her-"

"Crowley-" He has no intention of taking Grace anywhere, he'd thought that was clear-

"I know I'm worse than Satan, she deserves better than me, but- please- don't ask me to give her up, you can take her to Heaven but please let her still be _ mine-_"

"Heaven-?"

"I know she's too good for me, she hasn't Fallen, she belongs-"

"Right here, with us," Aziraphale interrupts, and tries not to take offence at Crowley's flinch when he touches her face. "Crowley, dear-"

"Please. Please, Aziraphale, I'll take any punishment but I can't give her up."

Aziraphale stares at her, aghast. _ Punishment? _He doesn't know how to fix the broken, sobbing mess of Crowley at his feet, except perhaps by risking his own happiness to reassure her. He turns to the cot and leans in, gathering his daughter into his arms, and Crowley whimpers.

"Please, no- please, just let me say goodbye-"

She cuts herself off with a choked noise as he kneels in front of her and carefully places Grace - now awake and looking rather cross about it - into her arms.

"Crowley, she's _ ours_. She'll always be ours, mine _ and _yours. I'd never- I never-"

But he _ has _ kept Crowley from her, even knowing it was the demon's worst nightmare, her greatest fear. He'd only meant to make sure they finished talking about this, but looking at Crowley, now, face streaked with tears as she curls protectively over their daughter, he suddenly realises how it must have looked. How it must have _felt. _ Crowley has been honest with him - painfully honest - about her fears and the thoughts she didn't act on, and he _ has _punished her for it, without even realising it. Crowley clings to Grace, murmurs soothing words against her cheek, and Aziraphale is disgusted with himself.

"Crowley, I'm sorry." He stands and moves towards the door, his heart so heavy that every step takes a Herculean effort. "I'll be downstairs, when… if… we should talk about this, later, but… take your time with Grace."

He does his best not to worry, as he paces the living room, that Crowley might take Grace and run. She might already have left; she doesn’t _ need _anything here, of course. She wouldn’t need to collect anything - but she’s said she won’t run, and even now, after the trust between them seems to have shattered so suddenly, he has to believe that. He has to.

How have things gone so badly wrong between them? A few days ago, they were rock solid, they were in such a good place - how has it come to the point of him fearing he’d be deprived of Grace, the point of Crowley begging him to _ punish _ her with anything but the removal of their daughter? He had thought they were doing the right thing, talking through their feelings; he had all but _ demanded _ it, in fact, when he’d realised Crowley was struggling with something; she had done everything he’d asked, told him everything he wanted to know, and he _ had _ punished her for it. Not deliberately, of course, but the effect was the same. He had never seen Crowley _ beg _ before, not when Satan threatened the entire world or when she’d wanted Aziraphale to run away with her. She’d dropped to her knees in front of an eleven-year-old’s bike, once, desperate to tell her newfound son she was sorry, but even then she hadn’t _ begged_. He’d never thought he’d see such a thing, and he’d certainly never wanted to _ cause _ it. He wouldn’t even blame her if she took Grace and ran.

So it comes as a surprise, when he turns to reverse the direction of his pacing, to find Crowley tucking Grace carefully into the Moses basket beside the sofa. She lingers, fussing over a blanket, and Aziraphale can see that she knows he’s watching her. It’s written in every tense line of her body.

“Crowley,” he manages, a barely audible croak, and she looks up at him. Her glasses block her eyes, but he can see she’s scared. It’s not just the grim set of her jaw, or even her body language; it’s the fact that although she’s brought Grace to him, she has decidedly _ not _handed her over. She’s still afraid of losing her - afraid of _him _\- and no wonder. No wonder. “Crowley, I’m sorry.”

“You’re right.” Crowley fixes her gaze on his bowtie, as if she dares look no higher. “I nearly took her. I’m as bad as him, and I don’t deserve you or Grace.”

“Crowley- Crowley, I never said that. I _ never _ said that.” He’s almost certain he didn’t; he _ wouldn’t_, because it isn’t true. “I was never going to take her.”

“Neither was I.” She huffs out a shaky breath. “It’s been so _ loud_, in my head, the last few days. Like suddenly I don’t know how to trust you, when I always have. _Always._ It… I guess it wasn’t as easy as separating out the parts. Or maybe it was just that I felt so _ safe _with you and that just… wasn’t allowed, was it? I’m not supposed to feel safe.”

“Of course you are. I hoped you would always feel safe with me.”

“It’s not you, angel.” Another mirthless huff of air. “It’s not you, it’s me. Always. And I know you probably want me gone-”

Suddenly, everything Aziraphale thought he knew about the situation seems to have been turned on his head. He had thought Crowley was angry with _ him_, as she should be, for frightening her like that - but she’s angry with _ herself_, somehow, and she thinks he is too. And just like that, it’s all too clear what he has to do. He crosses the room in three large strides and takes her hands before she can pull them out of reach.

“Crowley. I love you, and I will always love you, no matter what that brilliant, utterly nonsensical brain of yours cooks up to tell you otherwise. Of course you were scared, and I'm sorry I haven't helped matters. Of course it’s hard to trust me, now, with Grace. Everything you’ve been through - of course it complicates things. But nothing will change the fact that I love you, and Grace loves you, and I know you love us.”

“I do-”

“Then let that be enough, for now. Please. I don't think either of us wants to fight, and I'm so tired of arguing... Let’s just put Grace back to bed and go to sleep.”

“Because we’re tired?” Crowley looks doubtful. “And we’ll fight again in the morning?”

“Because we’re all safe here,” Aziraphale corrects her gently, “I promise you that. And we’ll _ talk _ in the morning, but I have no wish to fight with you.” He smiles, leaning in to tease her about her underhanded combat tactics as if pretending things are normal will make them so. “Besides, you ch-”

He doesn’t get any further, because Crowley pulls him across the last few inches between them and kisses him as if she’ll die if she doesn’t. Her cheeks are still damp, and Aziraphale hates that he put those tears there, but her lips are warm and her tongue is insistent. Crowley has always struggled with emotional words; sometimes, she’s much more expressive through gestures and favours and gifts - and Aziraphale can feel the love pouring off of her now, shattered and chipped but still holding together, still so strong. She is giving him _ herself_, again, even though he doesn’t deserve her, and all he can do is kiss her back, accepting the gift, promising to do better.

“Tomorrow, we’ll talk,” Crowley whispers as she draws back, and for a moment Aziraphale can’t think of a single word he’d rather have on his lips than her name. Then he remembers, and nods.

“Tomorrow, we’ll talk. Quietly. Calmly,” he adds, and Crowley nods.

“Tonight, you’ll stay with me? You’ll hold me?”

“Oh, dearest. Until the end of time itself.”

“Then...” Crowley takes a deep breath, then steps backwards. “I’ll meet you in the bedroom.” And she walks out, leaving him to carry Grace back up the stairs.

He knows Crowley is on the stairs, on the landing, in the bathroom, watching every step he takes as he returns Grace to her own room, but he doesn’t mind; the gesture of trust is more than he expected, and probably more than he could have offered her if their roles were reversed. So he pretends not to notice as the demon flits ahead of him from shadow to shadow until, at last, Grace is settled and Aziraphale turns back to their bedroom.

Restoring their trust in one another will take time, but it will be worth every second.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, Somebody, this is the last chapter I have written... Updates might slow down for a bit as I've got a lot on, but it shouldn't be more than a few days. Come and pester me on [Tumblr](https://sameoldsorceress.tumblr.com/) if I forget.

Crowley tries to make the grand gesture, she really does. She leaves Grace in the Moses basket, fast asleep, and walks away. Aziraphale could take her and run, but he won’t. She has to believe that he won’t.

But she can’t quite help it, slipping into the shadows and waiting to see where he takes her. He walks past the front door without a glance, Grace still snuffling quietly in his arms, and then he takes her upstairs. When he takes Grace into her room, Crowley thinks she’s probably seen enough. He’s just putting her to bed, he’s not taking her anywhere. But still she hesitates, waiting on the landing until he emerges without Grace, without any of the things he might have needed from her room if they were leaving, and only then does Crowley dart back into their bedroom and throw herself onto the bed as if she’s always been there.

Aziraphale snaps his fingers to clothe himself in his tartan pyjamas, then slips under the covers beside her and lies, ramrod-straight, on his side of the bed. For a moment, she feels rejected - unlovable and unwanted - but then it occurs to her to use her words. She hates being at odds with Aziraphale; it isn’t right that they seem to be on different sides, for all that it’s what they were put on this earth to do. It frightens her, the distance between them; it frightens her, the thought that he might not welcome her closing it. Perhaps he’s afraid, too.

“Will you hold me tonight, angel?” And it’s that endearment that seems to change things; before she even closes her mouth, Aziraphale is taking her gently into his arms, wrapping her in his warmth - in his _ wings_, she realises, with a jolt of surprise. She lets hers out, too, and together they form a little cocoon in the bed. Inside this tent of feathers, nothing can harm them; Crowley smiles, and feels the warmth of Aziraphale beside her, and she sleeps.

She wakes with a frown; she can hear Grace crying, but she can’t see anything past the feathery weight of her own wings. At some point in the night, she must have rolled onto her front; she’s about to tuck her wings away and get up when the bed dips beside her, and then she feels one wing lifted so that a soft, rounded body can wriggle underneath. She rolls onto her side to see what Aziraphale thinks he’s playing at - didn’t he hear their daughter cry? - but then she realises that he _ has _ Grace, that he is placing her between them in the warm sanctuary of their combined wings, and she can only smile and hope he feels the wave of love that rushes over her. _ This_, she can trust; _ this _is Aziraphale, and only Aziraphale, giving her the unwavering emotional support that only he has ever given her, giving her what she needs before she even knows she needs it.

“I love you,” she murmurs, needing him to know, and he smiles.

“I do know, dear, and it's quite mutual. Grace is fine; just missed us, I think. Go back to sleep.”

“Mm. Kay.”

When she wakes next, she wakes slowly, with the uneasy feeling that there is about to be a reckoning. Aziraphale and Grace are nowhere to be seen, and she forces herself to breathe deeply, to think of all the possible reasons for this that _ aren’t _betrayals. Stepping out onto the landing, she follows the sound of splashing to the bathroom and knocks.

“Oh! Come in, Crowley.” Aziraphale’s voice is cheery, if a little strained, and she enters to find him covered in soap suds, bathing a wriggly baby in the sink. “We made a little mess, didn’t we, Grace?”

“We?” Crowley asks weakly, and Aziraphale exchanges significant looks with their daughter. Well, _ Aziraphale’s _ look is significant; Crowley's fairly certain that Grace’s indicates imminent wind.

“Don’t worry, Grace. There’ll be no finger-pointing from me.”

“Mucky pup,” Crowley coos, drawing her own conclusions, and reaches past Aziraphale to touch Grace’s cheek. “Never mind. Accidents happen.”

“Yes, they do.” Aziraphale meets her eyes in the mirror, as if he’s afraid to turn and face her. “We all make messes by accident, sometimes.”

She's not blind to his double meaning; two can play at that game. “We do. And we forgive each other?”

“And ourselves,” Aziraphale confirms with a soft smile, “we must forgive ourselves, too.”

“And if we’re embarrassed?” Crowley asks quietly, ducking her head to kiss his shoulder, an apology and an agreement all at once.

“We needn’t be. You needn’t be, Crowley. Life is messy, isn’t it?”

Once Grace is clean, and fed, and rolling around on her blanket in the living room, Aziraphale draws Crowley close against his body on the sofa.

“I’m sorry, my dear. I knew what you were afraid of and I did it anyway. I’m so sorry.”

“I forgive you. Just - just never again, please?” Crowley nuzzles into Aziraphale’s neck. “I’m sorry, too. I know how it feels to- I should never have even _ thought _about it.”

“I forgive you. But next time - please - talk to me when you start getting worried, not when you’ve already got worked up into a full-blown panic.”

“Next time?” Crowley shudders. “Oh, I hope there’s not a next time.”

“There probably will be,” Aziraphale warns her, “you went through a terrible ordeal, it won’t just go away overnight. But we’ll face it together, all right?”

“Mm.” She frowns, thinking about the way Aziraphale had felt like the enemy. “I’ll try. I had lucid _ moments_, I suppose, when I knew I could trust you-”

“Then try to grab one of those and tell me what’s going on,” the angel tells her softly, “and I’ll do all I can to reassure you.”

“I’ll do my best. And- and you won’t take Grace, if I tell you I’m scared?”

“Dearest. No. Never.” She’s afraid, for a moment, that she’s offended him, but then he drags her even closer and begins pressing sweet, soft kisses into her hair. “I love you so much, Crowley. I never want to hurt you like that again. Never.”

“No. Me neither.” She’s about to close her eyes, to allow herself to relax into his touch, when she notices that their daughter has raised herself up on her hands and knees. “Angel.”

“Hm?”

“Angel,” she repeats, more urgently, and he lifts his head to look. “I think she’s getting ready to crawl.”

As they watch, Grace carefully shifts her weight and takes her first crawling step - backwards. She doesn’t seem to mind, squealing delightedly before letting herself fall onto the blanket and rolling onto her back with a giggle. Her parents are right there, tickling and praising, before she has time to do anything else, and Crowley pretends she doesn’t see the tears in Aziraphale’s eyes.

“Oh, Grace, that was wonderful! Your first crawl!”

“Better baby-proof the whole house again,” Crowley teases, pretending to be grumpy about it, but how can she be grumpy when her daughter has just taken such a momentous step forwards? Well, backwards, but still. It’s a triumph.

She thinks, despite their own step backwards, that she and Aziraphale might be something of a triumph today, too.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to write some fluff for them.
> 
> Haven't quite decided if I want to round this one off here and start another story to follow on, or if I'll keep going with this one. I suggest subscribing to the series if you haven't already, just in case.
> 
> This is a bit of a long one, but hopefully you'll enjoy it!

Aziraphale is the one to rush to the phone when it rings; they have just spent twenty minutes convincing Grace that what she really wants is to stop screaming and have a nap, and Crowley is still lingering. Aziraphale still feels terrible about the previous night’s horrors - the way he treated Crowley, without even realising what he was doing - and he believes Crowley when she says she won’t try to run off with Grace, so it seems fair that he should answer the phone, immediately, before Grace can be woken.

“Hello?”

“Aziraphale! It’s Adam. I wanted to make sure Mum was OK.” Judging by the way he lowers his voice when he says _ Mum, _ he’s not alone. Aziraphale hums thoughtfully, choosing his next words with care. He’s not alone, either, after all.

“Yes, I think so. More or less, anyway.”

“Did you guys talk?” Adam sounds less than reassured, and that’s Aziraphale’s fault.

“Yes. Yes, it was very enlightening. Thank you for drawing my attention to it.”

“And you worked things out?”

“Yes. Of course, these things take time, but I’m confident that… the _ book _will be restored to its original condition, eventually.”

“...Are… _ you _OK, Aziraphale?”

“Me? Oh, yes, yes, fine.”

“She told you what she was scared of, didn’t she?”

“Me. Yes.”

“Not you. Him. She knows, really, she knows you’d never hurt her.”

“Hm. I’m afraid I think I have, without meaning to - but it’s all on the mend, now. Everything’s tickety-boo.”

“Well, all right. If you’re sure.”

“Yes, yes. How have you been getting on, since we last spoke? I hardly had a chance to ask, the other day.”

Adam obediently fills him in on what he’d no doubt told Crowley when they’d met up, and Aziraphale listens as he watches Crowley slowly, reluctantly backing away from Grace so that she can go and tend to the garden. Aziraphale nods when she looks up at him, as if to make sure he’s watching their daughter, and then she darts outside. Aziraphale strongly suspects that the garden is about to receive the shortest spell of attention it has ever experienced, so he speaks as quickly as possible when Adam stops for breath.

“Er, Adam, actually, I wanted to ask…” He’s not going quickly _ enough_, he’s sure of it. Crowley is going to come in and catch him discussing this with Adam, and there will be all sorts of upset. “You called Crowley _ Mum _ the other day.”

“Oh. Yeah. That all right?”

“It’s… it’s splendid, Adam. Really. I just… it wasn’t because you were worried about her?”

“Of course I was worried. She was being really weird. But that’s not why.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’d been thinking about it for a while, actually. I was trying to get used to the idea of calling him - er, her, sorry, it was him at the time - Dad. You know. In my head. Then she called to say she’d switched pronouns, so I really only had that night to practice.”

“Practice?”

“I knew it was important. I wanted to get it right. But then… she’s always said she was my mother, anyway.”

“Yes. She always has.”

“Does that- does that mean she got pregnant with me?”

“Er… no, not in the usual way. I think it’s just how she feels. But you’re certain you don’t mind?”

“Yeah. Just as well, really. Imagine how you’d feel if you talked me out of it.”

“I’m sure Crowley would understand-”

“Yeah, but she doesn’t have to. Anyway, is Mum around?”

“She’s been in the garden. Hold on, and I’ll fetch her for you.”

He keeps one eye on Grace all the way to the door, the phone left off the hook on its little table. He _ would _have felt awful if Adam had changed his mind because of what he’d said - Crowley would have taken it hard - but he owed it to them both to make sure that Adam was happy. That, after all, is more important to Crowley than any title. Still, it’s a relief that he hasn’t taken it back.

“Crowley?” She straightens up from where she’s been hissing threats at what looked to be a large daisy. “Your son’s on the phone for you.” She hurries inside, pausing to check Grace is still asleep as she passes, and Aziraphale follows at a more sedate pace. If he enjoys the view a little as he goes, well, surely nobody can blame him. Crowley is very beautiful.

She’s so beautiful, in fact, that he finds himself moving to stand behind her, hands on her waist, as she continues to talk to Adam. He should give her some space, he suspects, allow her some privacy as she speaks to her son, but she melts back against his body as soon as she feels him there, and that seems like permission to stay. Perhaps shifting her hair out of the way so he can trail kisses across the back of her neck is pushing it slightly, but Crowley just hisses out a shaky breath and holds a hand up. _ Wait. _ He stops, obediently, and Crowley leans back against him, getting comfortable, letting him support her weight as she continues to chat. He doesn’t hear most of the conversation, despite how close her lips are to his ear, because he’s too busy watching the way she twists a strand of hair around her fingers, the way her eyes light up as she talks, the way she laughs.

It seems as if Adam’s on the phone forever, but it’s probably not long at all before Crowley hangs up and glances warily towards Grace’s Moses basket.

“She’ll wake up soon,” Crowley warns, “I don’t know what’s got into you.” She’s smiling, though, turning in his arms to look up at him.

“You’re beautiful,” Aziraphale tells her helplessly, “you’re perfect, Crowley. Sometimes I almost can’t look at you, you’re so-” He means to say more, but her lips are so close, and it seems only right to move in and capture them with his own. Crowley moans, and then she snaps her fingers and they’re in their bedroom.

“We’ll hear if she wakes up- we don’t have long-”

“Crowley- is this-?”

“_ Angel._” It’s an answer in itself, that breathless moan, but he hesitates.

“You know,” he begins, but Crowley hums softly as she begins kissing her way down his neck, paying him back for earlier, and he briefly loses track of what he’s saying. “You know this isn’t some sort of stress relief, don’t you? It’s not- not because I hurt you?”

“I know,” Crowley murmurs, but he’s not sure she does. He has to be sure.

“It’s not- _ Crowley-_ it’s not that you hurt me, either, it’s not… it’s nothing to do with hurt, or, or fixing things, it’s- Crowley, you have to know I love you. That’s why I want you, because-”

“I love you, too, angel,” Crowley assures him, already trying to strip him out of his layers, “and I know it’s not like that.” She doesn't say _I know it's not like him, _but they both know it's what she means.

“I just want you to be sure-”

“I am- angel, please.” She must know what it does to him - _ angel, angel _ \- she knows he melts a little more every time he hears the affectionate name. It’s the only possible reason she could want to say it so often.

Aziraphale goes willingly to the bed, and by the time Crowley has finished with him he can barely think straight, let alone move. Crowley smiles lazily at him, looking equally sated, and he manages to drag a hand through her hair.

“You’ve broken me, Crowley,” he tells her fondly, and her smile only grows. She always has been insufferably smug whenever she reduces him to this sort of state; it’s good to see that smile again.

“Good. You were getting all soppy.”

“You love when I get soppy.”

“Mm. I’ll never admit it.”

“Of course not.” Aziraphale pulls her closer, lets her settle her head against his chest, and together they catch their breath, just for a moment longer.

It’s Crowley who moves first, miracling herself back to a presentable appearance and shifting towards the door.

“We left Grace-”

“She’ll be all right. This house is protected.”

“Still-”

“I know. Go on, my love. I’ll be down in a moment.” He watches her go, dreamy and dazed, and stays where he is for nearly five minutes before a horrible thought occurs to him. What if Crowley is having doubts again - what if that’s why she’s slipped from his arms and gone down to check on their daughter? He miracles himself clean and dressed, then rushes downstairs to find…

Crowley is gently bouncing Grace on her hip as she moves around the kitchen, humming quietly, looking for something nice for Grace to eat. She moves - not gracefully, exactly, Crowley has always been a little too perplexed by her own limbs for that - _ fluidly_, as if she were just energy flowing from one place to the next, carried on the current of the breeze. Aziraphale could stand and look at her all day; she is so peaceful, so utterly content, and he wonders how he could have failed to notice the tension in her after the last time they made love. If Grace wasn’t there, he thinks, he would kiss her again, would take her hand and lead her back upstairs and worship her the way she deserves to be worshipped. But Grace _ is _there, and hungry, and hissing, and she catches sight of Aziraphale a few seconds before her mother does.

“Dadadadada!”

“Grace,” he greets her fondly, still truly delighted every time he hears her say his name, and wraps his arms around his little family. Crowley hands their daughter over and goes back to rummaging in the fridge, still humming to herself. She is relaxed; she is at peace. 

She is happy, and so is Aziraphale.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so I thought that last chapter might be a good place to wrap up, but I've been plotting out where the series is going next and I realised we're not quite there yet. So there are still a few chapters left in this story!
> 
> I'm multitasking at this point because I'll also be doing NaNo and I have a couple of other multi-chapter fics in progress, so updates might be slow, but they will be coming!

They're happy, the three of them. Except that Grace is teething, and she won't stop screaming, and Crowley wants to scream with her. It's so unfair, her perfect daughter in so much pain while Crowley, who practically invented human sin, goes unpunished. 

"Don't you think you're suffering, too?" Aziraphale pats her shoulder as he goes to fetch a fresh teething ring. "I know I am. It's heartbreaking."

They’ve been so lucky, thus far. Grace’s first few teeth had appeared with little fuss, and they’d thought that maybe her celestial heritage protected her from pain. But this one - hopefully, the last - is causing trouble.

“This is really testing the no-miracles rule,” Crowley admits softly, when Aziraphale returns with the ring and Grace quiets slightly. “Can’t we just… miracle it through?”

“Which of us would do it?” Aziraphale’s tone is reasonable, but laced with longing. “We don’t know how her occult side might react to such direct application of divine power- or how her ethereal side might react to your infernal workings.”

“I know. I just-”

“Hate to see her in pain,” Aziraphale finishes for her, “I know. You haven’t slept in days, my dear. Won’t you take a nap?”

“But Grace-”

“Has _ two _parents, Crowley, and I’m not as accustomed to sleep as you are. Get some rest, and then perhaps I could be tempted to a nap later.”

“I- fine.” Crowley _ is _tired. “But if she needs me- if it gets any worse-”

“I’ll wake you, naturally.”

Crowley might have agreed to this nap, but it doesn’t mean she has to be gracious about taking it. Her daughter is in _ pain _ , and it’s awful to have to stand by and watch, unable to help. But Aziraphale’s right; they can’t risk trying to heal her, or smooth the tooth’s way, for fear that she’s not as human as she appears. There might be something in her composition that wouldn’t take to a miracle, divine or infernal, and they will _ never _risk Grace’s wellbeing in that way. Teething is a normal human problem, and they will simply have to try to help her through it in a normal human way.

So before she settles down for her nap, Crowley pulls out her phone to consult a human expert.

“Anathema?”

“Crowley.” She sounds fondly exasperated already, and Crowley’s barely said a word. “How’s the patient?”

“She’s just _ screaming_. All the time. Are you _ sure _it’s normal?”

“You were a _ nanny_, Crowley, you must have seen it with Warlock.”

“We got there later, I missed that bit. And this is- this is _ Grace_.”

“It’s normal, Crowley. And it sucks. We had to go through it with two of them, and Newt and I spent an embarrassing amount of time crying along with them.” She can almost hear the shrug on the other end of the line. “Mostly Newt, but still. It’s hard. But at least this has gotta be the one of the last ones, right? And then you don’t have to worry about it for, like, six more years until her big teeth come in.”

“Big… teeth.” She _ does _ remember Warlock’s big teeth coming through. “Oh, _ Somebody_.”

“Yeah. Sorry. Sounds quiet, has Aziraphale got her right now?”

“Yeah, I’m supposed to be-”

“Get some sleep.” She wonders, for a moment, how she can possibly have read her mind. “Trust me, whenever you can, get some sleep. And then take over so Aziraphale can get some, too, because I’m sure he’s gonna be just as stubborn as you about leaving her.”

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t know why I talk to you.” She says it in the teasing tone Anathema’s used to, and the occultist reads between the lines without difficulty.

“You’re welcome. Call any time. Go to sleep.” Then she hangs up in a crackle of static, and Crowley takes her advice.

She wakes to the sound of her alarm a few hours later, and pads out onto the landing to find Aziraphale halfway up the stairs.

“Oh, hello,” he whispers, “we were just about to come and join you. She’s asleep, at last.”

“Come on, then,” Crowley answers, just as softly. “But when she wakes up, it’s my turn and _ you _get to sleep.”

They settle in the bed, Grace safely nestled between the two of them, and Aziraphale is asleep almost before his head hits the pillow. Crowley watches them for a while, her perfect family, and then shakes a wing free of the ether in order to lay it over them. She will keep watch while they sleep, and then she’ll hold them if they need comforting. They are hers, and nothing will take them from her. She knows that now.


	18. Chapter 18

Aziraphale is relieved when Grace finally has all her teeth in place. Relieved, it must be said, and exhausted. Human or not, their child has some fantastic lungs on her when she’s upset. Now, however, she seems contented enough, giggling and hissing at Crowley while the demon tickles her. Aziraphale has half a mind to join in, but that would mean getting up, and his armchair is so comfortable.

Crowley sees his wistful gaze and comes to him, instead, leaving Grace to her toys on the floor.

“You look shattered,” she tells him, and he doesn’t even have the energy to try to look offended. “Don’t you want to go up for a sleep?”

“Don’t tempt me, demon,” he argues half-heartedly, “it does sound nice. But you’re tired, too.”

“We’re fine,” Crowley assures him, “we’ll live if you want to go for a nap.”

“Well, all right, let me just say goodnight to- _ Crowley. _” He doesn’t have to elaborate on that; the tone of his voice has the demon whirling around to stare at the empty blanket where Grace had just been.

“Grace?”

She’s not there. For a moment, all Aziraphale can do is stand and think, stupidly, _ she’s not there, she’s gone. _ Then he leaps up, tiredness all but forgotten as he casts around the room, hoping for a glimpse of his child.

“Grace?” He can hear himself panicking. “Grace, where- where are you?” It’s not as if she’s going to answer; she’s too little to understand. That’s if she’s even in earshot; beside him, Crowley is tasting the air, and Aziraphale knows she’s checking for the scent of sulphur, for the crisp winter morning smell that accompanies Heaven. She is afraid that Grace has been taken; Aziraphale is simply afraid that she’s _ gone_. He turns to check the doors are locked, rushes around the armchair- and stops abruptly before he can trip over his daughter.

“Crowley, she’s here. She’s just here.” He’s already gathering her into his arms, kissing her face as if she’s been missing for hours rather than the mere seconds she’s been out of their sight, and Crowley would probably laugh at him for it if she wasn’t so preoccupied with launching herself across the room to do likewise.

“Gracie, you mustn’t do that- you- I thought-” Crowley trails off as they both seem to realise what’s actually happened.

“Grace, did you _ crawl _again?” She’s been moving around in little bursts, but never made it more than a couple of steps; now it seems they’ll have to be more vigilant, as she’s got the hang of it. Aziraphale lowers her to the floor and she immediately races off back towards her toys and her blanket.

“Oh, sweet Somebody,” Crowley grumbles, though she’s smiling all the same, “our kid’s got rocket boosters in there somewhere.”

“Yes, she has.” Aziraphale smiles fondly before a yawn overtakes him.

“Go to sleep,” Crowley insists, never taking her eyes off of their little girl. Aziraphale is reminded, suddenly, that snakes don’t blink. “I’ll keep an eye on this little whirlwind, don’t you worry.”

“Thank you, dear.”

As he starts up the stairs, he can hear Crowley and Grace are still giggling to one another, perhaps amused by a staticky noise from the television or the faces they’re no doubt pulling as Grace scuttles across the floor. He needs his rest, he tells himself, so that he can join the fun. If he was any less tired, though, he’d be rushing down to take part in their games right away. It will be a quick nap, he resolves, and then he’ll be back to follow Grace from room to room, marvelling at her newfound mobility. He settles down to sleep with a big smile on his face.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK - I know I've said this before but I think we're a couple of chapters from the end of this fic. There will be another one (although I might go back and change this whole fic into past tense first, to match the rest of the series) so please, if you haven't already subscribed to the series, do that!
> 
> Anyway, this is short and cute so enjoy.

Crowley is asleep, Grace sprawled out on her chest, when the sudden silence of the kids’ channel switching off for the night rouses the infant from her own slumber. Grace shifts her weight slightly and Crowley instinctively wraps her arms around her, afraid that she’ll take off. She’s been crawling for a week now, and honestly it’s no wonder that Crowley’s fallen asleep in front of the telly; she and Aziraphale have been run ragged keeping up with her.

Grace does not take well to being restrained; as the television crackles, she bashes a little fist against Crowley’s shoulder and hisses.

“If that’s meant to be threatening, it needs work,” Crowley tells her lazily, “any chance you want to go back to sleep for a little bit?”

“Mamaaa,” Grace complains loudly, and Crowley sighs.

“Thought n-”

She sits up all of a sudden, lifting her daughter into a sitting position on her lap as she goes.

“What did you just say, Gracie?”

“Mama,” Gracie repeats obediently, and Crowley feels her heart swell.

“Oh, well done, you clever girl - oh, let’s go and find Daddy, shall we?”

Aziraphale looks up from his book as they enter the study, his lips curving upwards into a delighted smile.

“Hello, favourite people! I thought you were asleep.”

“We were,” Crowley admits, “but then Grace got chatty.”

“Chatty?” Aziraphale sits a little straighter in his chair and reaches for his daughter; Crowley hands her over with a fond smile. “Babbling again?”

“Not quite. Gracie, who’s that?”

“Dadada,” Grace tells him, beaming and reaching up to pat at Aziraphale’s cheeks. Aziraphale, having the patience of a saint, bears this admirably.

“And who am I?”

They’ve played this game before, and Grace always answers with a hiss and a wriggle. This time, she thinks about it for a moment.

“Mama,” she decides eventually, before wriggling and having a little hiss for good measure.

“That’s right-” Aziraphale stops talking, looking up at Crowley in wonder. “She called you Mama!”

“Yeah.” She can’t help grinning; if she doesn’t, she might cry. She might cry anyway. She’s longed to hear that word from infant lips. “Yeah, she did.”

“Well done, Grace! Oh, wonderful child - you’ve made your Mama so happy, you know that?”

“Mama,” Grace agrees solemnly, no doubt enjoying the attention and the praise she’s receiving every time she says the word. Aziraphale stands and passes her to Crowley suddenly, and it takes her a moment to realise that the angel is freeing his hands up so he can hug her. Grace should probably be uncomfortable, stuck between them, but she’s having too much fun tugging at Crowley’s hair and repeating her new word over and over.

Crowley rests her forehead against Aziraphale’s and sighs.

“Stupid thing to get excited over-”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Crowley. I’m so pleased for you.”

“Mama,” Grace shrieks, and smacks her in the ear.

It doesn’t stop her smiling.


	20. Chapter 20

Aziraphale wakes one morning to find Crowley already up and looking surprisingly like her old self.

“Good morning, dear. Pronoun change?” Crowley has a tendency to use her body to reflect what she wants to be called, after all, and it does no harm to check occasionally.

“Yeah, I think so. Just for a day or two, maybe. Not sure.”

“Just let me know, dear. Just let me know. Now, I’ve got a bone to pick with you.”

Crowley turns away from the mirror, his face falling as he approaches the bed.

“Have I done something wrong, angel?”

“Mm. Not wrong, exactly. But I do usually get a kiss before we get up, and you’re up.”

“Then I’ll come back.” And Crowley does just that, slipping between the sheets to give Aziraphale all the kisses he could possibly want.

They get up when Grace starts crying for her breakfast, and she reaches for Crowley right away.

“Mama!”

“Ack. Should have gone for the short hair, got a blessed reprieve,” Crowley grumbles, but he makes no attempt to disentangle his daughter’s hands from his hair.

“I’m sorry. She probably gets her obsession with your hair from me,” Aziraphale tells him, although he doesn’t feel very sorry at all. At least, not about that. “Er- I was thinking of going back to the shop for a bit today. Keep the customers guessing, and all that. It’s been several months, after all.”

“Mm. That sounds like a good idea.”

Aziraphale regards them both thoughtfully for a moment; Grace is growing so fast, and he doesn’t want to miss a second of it.

“You could come with me, if you wanted. You and Grace. She can hiss at the customers.”

“And I can stop her getting sticky fingers all over your books.” Crowley grins. “Sounds like fun. It’d be nice to see the old place again.”

“_You _just want to hiss at the customers,” Aziraphale teases, and Crowley’s smirk is all the answer he needs.

It doesn’t take long, once they’ve eaten, to get Grace ready and pile into the Bentley. Grace is a little fussy, so Aziraphale sits in the back with her. Crowley puts a tape into the player - it doesn’t matter which tape he grabs, it’s always Queen when you get right down to it - and fiddles with the volume until it’s low enough that they can talk, that Grace can sleep if she wants to.

_ Love of my life, don’t leave me… _

It’s a soft song, a gentle song, and Aziraphale feels himself begin to nod off even as Grace falls asleep gripping his thumb in one small fist. He’s jolted out of his near-slumber by a burst of static, and Crowley smacks the dashboard.

“‘Ey, none of that, they’re trying to sleep back there.”

The speakers crackle again, and then the music returns, louder and more energetic than before. Crowley blesses loudly under his breath and begins trying to turn it down, but it’s still blaring when it reaches the chorus.

_ Tie your mother down _

_ Tie your mother down _

_ Lock your daddy out of doors- _

Crowley punches a button and the tape ejects, the car finally falling silent. Grace stares up at Aziraphale, wide-eyed and wide awake.

“It’s all right, my dear. It’s just music. This car can get some funny songs stuck in its head sometimes. Go back to sleep.”

The stereo crackles again and Crowley flinches, but then it falls silent. Crowley grips the wheel a little tighter for a few miles, but then he seems to remember that Hell doesn’t send him orders any more. They drive the rest of the way in quiet conversation about London, about the people they’ve got to know, however accidentally, around Soho and the distinct possibility that most of them will still be around. It’s unusual, for them, to return to a place they’ve left so recently. Usually, if they see familiar faces after time away, they turn out to be somebody’s grandchildren.

Aziraphale opens the shop, and it doesn’t take long for curious locals to come in for a chat. Mostly it’s local shop owners, people Aziraphale is only too happy to chat to and make tea for. Several of them recognise Crowley, and when they realise that Grace is _ theirs_, they swarm. Aziraphale hears several of them ask for cuddles and realises his poor demon must be panicking at the thought of handing her over, so he sweeps in to rescue him.

“I’ll have her for a bit, dear.” He won’t let most of them hold her, of course, but at least if he_ does_ place her in someone else’s arms, it won’t trigger Crowley’s terror over inadvertently giving her up.

To his surprise, when he next looks round, Crowley has made tea and is passing cups out to the handful of people still gathered in the shop. Aziraphale swaps the last cup for a baby, and Crowley settles on the floor with her. Watching him ignore everyone around him - except those who compliment Grace, who receive a brief smile apiece - to focus on their daughter makes Aziraphale’s heart feel a few sizes bigger than it had when he’d woken that morning.

He turns his attention to the shop, as local shopkeepers drift out and actual would-be customers drift in. Crowley manages to convince Grace to hiss at one who seems particularly set on making a purchase, but the customer thinks it’s adorable and is undeterred. He continues to attempt to purchase one of Aziraphale’s beloved Oscar Wilde tomes, and Aziraphale is beginning to run out of excuses not to sell it when a gasp from Crowley gets his full attention. The customer ceases to matter as he rushes over to find Grace, clinging to the edge of a bookshelf, standing upright on her own two feet. Crowley is beaming with pride, and Aziraphale turns back to the customer to see if he’s impressed. Of course he isn’t; he doesn’t know what a momentous occasion this is.

“I’m terribly sorry,” he lies, “my daughter’s standing for the first time, and I think this merits the three of us going out to lunch. I’m going to have to close.”

“But the book-”

“Maybe next time,” Aziraphale tells him, and steers him firmly out of the door.

They don’t go out for lunch; they stay in, watching Grace crawl into every intriguing corner of the bookshop and then pull herself upright to have a wobbly look around. Later, she’s so tired that she settles into her car seat without even a murmur of protest, and Aziraphale feels confident in sitting at the front of the car.

Crowley’s hand twitches towards the stereo, but he thinks better of it. He reaches out and squeezes Aziraphale’s knee, instead.

“Already fed up with looking like a man, for now,” he admits, as if it’s something to be ashamed of. “Felt good, this morning. Now it feels weird again.”

“Whatever you want, my dear. It’s not a problem.”

So it’s a distinctly feminine Crowley who slips into bed with him that night, and Aziraphale runs his hands through her hair with a contented sigh.

“I really do love your hair,” he tells him softly, “I’m glad you kept it long today.”

“And I thought you loved _ me_,” Crowley grumbles, but she presses a kiss to his shoulder all the same.

“Of course I do, my dear. My beautiful partner.” He wonders, briefly, if he should raise the subject of a different title, one that implies all the commitments they’ve already made to one another. There’ll be time for that, one day, he thinks, if Crowley seems open to it. Tonight, he’s too tired to raise the issue. “I love you, Crowley.”

“Love you too,” the demon murmurs against his neck, “go to sleep.”

And Aziraphale does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs quoted are, of course, 'Love of My Life' and 'Tie Your Mother Down', both by Queen.


	21. Chapter 21

Crowley’s at home alone with Grace when she begins to babble to herself. That’s not a new development, as such; she’s been babbling to herself for some time now. But today, she keeps saying things that sound almost like words. In the absence of Aziraphale to complain about the television being on - he’s popped into the bookshop alone today, and should be home soon - Crowley is sitting with Grace on her lap, watching an animated film about a unicorn, and they’re having a little chat about it.

“I saw one of those up close, actually, Gracie. It was just as beautiful as that one.”

“Amamaba?”

“Yeah, and fast, too- well, the other one was fast, I didn’t see that one close up, though. That one ran away.”

“Obomabado. Egair?”

“Exactly. But the one I saw up close was pretty, and very gentle - I had to smuggle a couple of kids past, and she didn’t make a fuss.”

“Agudgul.”

“Yes, she wa- what?”

“A good gul,” Grace repeats cheerfully, and claps her hands together with a delighted squeal.

“Well, yes.” Crowley beams down at her. “Yes, she was. And so are you.”

“Agoooood!”

The unicorn on the television flickers, a burst of static escaping the speakers, and Crowley clutches Grace a little closer without really knowing why. Then, as quickly as it came, the interference passes. Crowley relaxes as she hears Aziraphale open the front door.

“Hello! Crowley?”

“In h-”

_ “Crowley.” _ The voice crackles with static, coming from the kitchen radio.

“Gracie,” she whispers, “go to Daddy. OK? Go to Daddy, now.”

She watches Grace crawl a few tentative steps towards her father, obviously confused, and then she rushes into the kitchen.

“What?” She hisses at the radio, “What the hell do you-?”

_ “Come to me, or lose everything you ever wanted.” _

Then smoke pours from the speakers and Crowley goes very still as infernal orders flood her brain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to scream at me and the comment box below isn't enough, you can also find me on Tumblr @sameoldsorceress.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realised this doesn't, strictly speaking, help, so I'm putting it up now and will then put up the next chapter (which is longer, at least) either tonight or tomorrow. So... don't worry.

Aziraphale opens the cottage door and calls out to announce himself.

“Hello! Crowley?”

“In h-” It sounds like Crowley’s voice, but it’s not like her to cut herself off like that. There’s a crackle of static from the kitchen, and then Grace is on her hands and knees at Aziraphale’s feet, tugging at his trouser leg.

“Dadada?”

“Hello, sweetheart.” He gathers her up into his arms. “Where’s your Mama?”

“Mamamamama!” The little face he's so fond of scrunches up in fury, the little girl squirming in his arms as if she’s in the grip of a monster, and not her father at all. “Mamamamaaaaa!”

“It’s all right, dear. It’s all going to be…” But Grace kicks and screams and Aziraphale feels a stab of panic as he carries her through into the living room. He’s sure this is where Crowley’s voice had come from, and sure enough there’s an animated film playing on the TV, but he can’t see any sign of his demon. He tries the kitchen next, and finds nothing out of place. He checks room after room, Grace wailing in his ear all the way, but Crowley is nowhere to be found.

_ All right. She heard me come in, and she knew Grace would be safe, so she left. Perhaps something urgent came up. _

There’s nothing he can think of that could demand Crowley’s attention so suddenly.

_ Perhaps she got scared again, and this is her way of getting some space without giving Grace to me. Perhaps she’s gone to see Adam. Perhaps she’s gone to buy some wine. Perhaps… perhaps… _

He’s not convinced, but there are more pressing matters to attend to. Grace is screaming herself hoarse, and he needs to calm her down. So he takes her to her room, where she feels safe, and he rocks her in his arms until the screaming dies down, and when she finally cries herself to sleep he takes a moment - just one - to congratulate himself on surviving Grace’s first real tantrum.

Then he sits, trapped by the sleeping toddler in his lap, and wonders where Crowley is.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, first things first: TW for non-consensual Effort alteration. It's brief, but it's there.
> 
> Secondly: I'm sorry, I know, I suck. But here's another chapter, for you.

Crowley follows the instructions she’s been given, putting one foot in front of the other until she reaches an old tomb not far from the cottage she shares with Aziraphale. It’s one of a thousand places that humans believe they can run around a certain number of times to summon the devil, and now the devil has summoned her here. The proximity to her home is alarming; she hadn’t thought Satan took enough notice of her movements to know where she lived. She hasn’t been called back to Hell, and it’s probably for precisely that reason. He wants her to _ know _ that he knows where she lives, that he can carry out his threat at any time.

_ Come to me, or lose everything you ever wanted. _He has threatened her family, and there is nothing she will not do to protect them. She will never let him hurt them, not again.

_ “Why start you at that skeleton?” _ Satan quotes, stepping out from behind the great tree that shelters the tomb, and Crowley refuses to be startled.

“Well, you wanted me here, and here I am. So what do you want?”

Satan has the nerve to look offended. 

_“You_, Crowley.”

The wind whips at her, making her wish she’d had time to stop and grab a jacket. She knows, though, that it’s not the cold that sends a shiver down her spine. At least she had the presence of mind to pull her sunglasses out of her pocket and put them on before she reached their meeting-place; she has her shield, however futile.

“What do you want from me?” She asks again, and Satan shows her his empty hands in a gesture of trust. She doesn’t trust it; Satan is more powerful and more ruthless than her, and that gives him power, armed or not. She hopes his armies are not marching on her family; she should have stopped to tell Aziraphale what was going on. That they’d been threatened. She should have told him. It’s too late now.

“You will rule Hell at my side, as my consort,” Satan declares, and Crowley fights the urge to shudder again. “You will command Hell’s armies, second only to my own power, and all the dominions of Hell will bow to you as an extension of me. We shall be eternal.”

“What’s in it for me?” She forces herself to sound disinterested, rather than revolted. If this is a deal she has to make, to keep her family safe, she will make it and keep it. If nothing else, Satan tends to honour his deals.

He looks confused.

“You… will rule Hell at my side- I’m offering you everything you ever wanted, Crowley.”

“And in return, you’ll leave my family alone? They’ll be safe? Is that it?”

His brow furrows like a freshly-ploughed field.

“Your angel and his spawn… they have nothing else that I want. I can swear their safety, if you prefer. Once I have your word.”

“And what you want in return for that promise… is me.”

“Is it so hard to imagine that we could return to what we were?” Satan must see the contempt on her face, because he hurries on. “Better, in fact, because I will lavish you with the gifts a Queen of Hell deserves.”

“Everything I hate most is standing in front of me. And now you’re asking me to declare myself your Queen.”

“In exchange for _ everything _you’ve ever wanted, Crowley-”

“All I _ want _is-” She stopped abruptly. “Wait. This is what you meant? A throne, armies...?”

“...Power, respect. Respect Hell has never shown you, for all your considerable merits.” Somebody help her, he’s trying to be _ nice_. He stole her son from her, long ago, and now he thinks pretty words and shiny titles will make her forget all that. “Have I not promised you all of those things?”

_“Everything I ever wanted- _It’s not a threat.”

“It’s a _ gift_, Crowley, and a lavish one at that. You might show more gratitude-”

Her family aren’t in danger; no more than usual, anyway. She doesn’t have to sacrifice herself to save them, not this time, and that means she doesn’t have to give Satan what he wants. She doesn’t have to do any of it. Satan reaches out to touch her arm and she steps back smartly, putting herself out of his reach before he can get close.

“Satan. Seriously. Please. This is _ embarrassing. _ I’m not interested. I never will be. I _ have _everything I want, everything I could ever want. And you need to leave me alone.”

Satan’s mouth hangs open for several long moments before he manages to respond.

“But Crowley. You will be my Queen, the Queen of Hell, lauded and praised-”

“Nope. No, I won’t. Not interested. Find another Queen. I’m out.”

She turns to walk away, but Satan blocks her path. He’s fast; she’d forgotten that. He reaches out, not with his hand but with his power, and she feels him trying to test the constraints of her corporation. If she doesn’t stop him, she knows, he will change her form to his liking, and she _ does not want that. _

“Stop,” she says, but her voice trembles.

“I know how you liked it,” Satan assures her, “I know that when you had one of _ these-” _ There’s an odd twisting sensation in Crowley’s essence, and suddenly the nature of the Effort she’s been making for all these years has changed. “When you had _ that_, you wanted me.”

“No,” she insists, wrestling with her own power in an attempt to change it back, “it had nothing to do with that.”

“It was me, then. It was _ me _that you wanted.” Satan, triumphant, releases his control over her form and she hastily changes it back to the way she’d had it before. Her skin crawls at the invasion, the violation of having her form altered against her will. He had done that often, long ago; she had let him. She had let him do a great many things, back then. She hadn’t known things could be better.

“Perhaps I did want you,” she admits, “perhaps I wanted to experience those human secrets. Perhaps I trusted you. Perhaps I even thought I might be able to _love_ you, if only one day you would listen to me. Once, I might have jumped at the chance of Hell’s respect and praise, of _ your _ respect and praise.” She can’t keep the snarl from her lips. “But then you ruined _ everything _ by taking my son from me. You lied to me for years, and you’ve _ still _never apologised for any of it. You have never really cared enough to know me, and you never will.”

“That’s not true,” Satan interrupted, “I’ve been watching you for months, now. Listening. You wanted my attention, and you got it. How do you think I knew to find you here?”

“How-? The electronics.” She’d been so blind; she’d noticed that their technology was on the blink, but she’d dismissed it. She wouldn’t make the same mistake again.

“Of course. I even chose you a song from that awful machine you keep in your car.”

_ Of course you did, _Crowley thought to herself with a grimace. “The other day, was it? When my child was woken up because the stereo wouldn’t stop blaring?”

“The message was all but addressed to her, after all.” _ Tie your mother down. Lock your daddy out of doors. _

“You really think this is helping your case? That this is what I wanted?” Crowley shook her head. “You have violated my privacy, and you've learned nothing. So go back to Hell. You won’t be seeing me there.”

This time, she doesn’t give him a chance to block her path; she brings time to a screeching halt and takes flight, using the precious seconds she’s gained to get a headstart. She flies straight home; he doesn’t need to follow her to find her family, after all, and if he _ does _come after them she’d rather be there to help Aziraphale defend their home.

He doesn’t follow, and she collapses on the lawn in relief. That’s where Aziraphale finds her, seconds after her abrupt landing, and gathers her into his arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Satan's quoting from the legible portion of the tomb's engravings, which is the following spooky little verse:  
_"Why start you at that skeleton?_  
_'Tis your own image that you shun;_  
_Alive it did resemble thee,_  
_And thou when dead like that shalt be."_  
It's a real tomb, and it really has that inscription, and - like almost everywhere else on the Downs - local legend does claim you can summon up the Devil by running round it twelve times at midnight. It's [The Miller's Tomb (tomb of John Olliver), Highdown.](http://www.highdowngardens.co.uk/tour/millers-tomb/) The link has some lovely pictures showing off the tree, too.  
(End of Sussex nerdery)


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright - the penultimate chapter. I'll put the last one up once I've got the next work ready, but here's a little bit of dust-settling for you.

Aziraphale has just managed to transfer Grace into her cot and is about to go looking for any clues to Crowley’s whereabouts when the demon in question drops out of the sky and plummets past the window. He rushes downstairs and out into the garden, scooping her up before he can realise that she’s landed, albeit in a hurry, rather than crashed.

He carries her inside, anyway, while she gets her breath back, and then listens patiently to a stream of unintelligible babbling until, at last, she realises she isn’t making any sense. She sweeps her sunglasses from her face and tosses them carelessly onto the table, as if that might help Aziraphale to understand. Her eyes are wild, darting around the room, searching.

“Try again, dear. English would be nice.”

“Where’s Grace- Satan- called me to him- he knows where we are- wants me back-”

“He tried to take you?” Aziraphale’s alarm barely subsides as Crowley shakes her head.

“Tried to bribe me- tried- angel, she’s safe?”

“Let me fetch her for you.” Nothing is going to calm Crowley until she has her daughter in her arms and her partner by her side - and perhaps seeing Crowley will cheer Grace up, too. Even if she does wake up halfway down the stairs.

“Shh, shh. I know. Look, here’s Mama. Here’s Mama.” Crowley takes the child eagerly, clinging to her and breathing in the familiar baby smell of her downy hair, and Grace grabs her nose as if to scold her.

“I know, my lovely Gracie, I didn’t want to leave you like that- oh, and we were just having such a nice chat about unicorns-”

“What happened?” Aziraphale can be patient, but not when Crowley is so clearly shaken.

“He knows we’re here. He’s been listening - the radio, the TV - everything Hell used to use to give me orders, he’s been using it to spy on me.” Aziraphale tries not to think about how often they’ve each heard the crackle of static and dismissed it as just routine technical problems.

“And what happened today?”

“He told me to come to him, or lose everything I’d ever wanted. Those were his exact words. And then he gave me directions like they were orders, and I- I was so scared he’d come after you that I just went.” Crowley hands Grace back to her father and reaches for the kitchen radio, removing its batteries with trembling fingers. “I went to him, and he offered to make me his Queen. Queen of Hell. Quite a promotion from traitor, I have to say.”

“You weren’t tempted? Not at all?” Aziraphale isn’t sure he wouldn’t hesitate, if he was offered the position of the Metatron, or something similar. But in the end, he knows, there’s no contest; Crowley and Grace are all he needs.

“Of course not, angel.” Crowley grimaces. “I told him to leave me alone, and he- he thought it was a-” She seems to remember that Grace is there, and changes tack abruptly, “-a plumbing thing.”

“A-? Oh. I thought you said that was _ his _preference?”

“It was. As if I could hate him with this in my pants, and fall head-over-heels the minute I had something else between my legs.” Crowley shudders. “He, er, well, never mind. I’m not hurt, he didn’t touch me. Look, he's- he hasn't followed me back here, so I guess he's backing off for the moment, but we need to do something."

"What do you need, dear?" Aziraphale recognises the sudden steel in Crowley's eyes; his demon is ready for battle.

"It's Grace's birthday party in three days." Crowley's tone brooks no argument. "We get through that. And then…"

For several moments, she doesn’t go on, and Aziraphale wonders if she, too, is turning over their carefully-laid plans in her head. Is it safe to stay in their beloved cottage for the days between now and the big day? Might Satan follow them to Tadfield? Would Anathema and Newt want to rescind their offer of hosting so Adam could attend his sister’s first birthday party? It all seemed up in the air.

As it turns out, that isn’t what Crowley was thinking at all.

“And then I think Grace should stay in Lower Tadfield.”

“You-” Aziraphale realises he’s pulled the child in question closer to his chest even as he struggles to articulate how bizarre what Crowley’s just said is. “You can’t mean that.”

“You could stay with her - just for a night or two, just while I try to put more wards on this place-”

“No. If Anathema will take her for the night - if you’re _ certain _ that’s something you can deal with - then I will come home with you and help out. One night, Crowley. We’re not splitting our family up for any longer than that.” 

It sounds ridiculous, not wanting to be parted for even 24 hours, especially in the context of their infinite lifespans, but if they go through with this, it would be the first time they’ve ever let Grace out of their sight for more than a few hours. In fact, it would be the first time she’d been separated from _ both _ of her parents, ever. That's a big deal in any family - but it's Crowley Aziraphale is worried about. Crowley looks worried, too, her mouth set in a grim line that curves downward slightly.

“Crowley, are you sure you-”

“We have to keep her safe. That’s all that matters. Anathema is a witch, she can keep her hidden for the night. We’ll just- we’ll take a night and we’ll make our home safe again.”

“And you’re sure she can’t be here for that?” But he knows Crowley is right; they can’t start working on the house’s defences and then get distracted by Grace. It could be very dangerous to keep her with them.

“You can go with her,” Crowley reminds him softly, “this is my mess. I’m not going to make you help clear it up.”

“Crowley- this mess is _ our _mess, if it’s anybody’s. And your infernal trickery might hold off Heaven, if necessary, but when it comes to Satan I’d be much happier adding some divine protection. We’ll do this together, and Grace will have a lovely sleepover with the twins. Right, Grace?”

They realise, too late, that she’s been far too quiet while all this discussion has taken place, eyes wide and worried as she looks between the worried faces of her parents. One of her hands has curled into Aziraphale’s shirt, but she’s looking at Crowley with big, pleading eyes. Aziraphale looks too.

“Angel, if I take her now I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to let her go.”

“Nonsense.” Aziraphale can see the longing in Crowley’s eyes, that battle-ready mask slipping from her face, and he shifts Grace into her lap before she can do anything about it. “There.”

“Oh, Gracie.” And there she is, the unspeakably soft Crowley Aziraphale so rarely gets to see. She curls around Grace as if she’s trying to shield her from the whole world, nose pressed to the reddish curls of her hair, and closes her eyes against all the world’s horrors. “You two are all I could ever want, you know that?”

Aziraphale moves closer, rests a hand on Crowley’s shoulder in support, and he feels her take a deep breath.

“Bed, my dear. You’ve had a shock, and I should very much like to be able to hold you without the back of this chair in the way.”

“But-”

“Grace, too,” Aziraphale insists, “we need a moment, as a family.”

It doesn’t take long, once they’re settled, for Crowley’s breathing to even out as she falls asleep. Grace, walled in with miraculously-immovable pillows on one side and Crowley on the other, watches her curiously for a few minutes, then seems to decide that sleeping is a good idea. 

Aziraphale, moulded to the shape of Crowley’s back, does not sleep. Instead, his mind wanders to the flaming sword he once gave to humanity. It has been a very long time since he last doubted that decision - he still doesn’t, really, because that decision led him _ here _, to the two beings he loves most in the entire universe - but he does, just for a moment, wish that he still had it.

He will not sleep; he will watch over his family as he once watched over the Eastern Gate. No - he will watch more carefully, because they are more precious than anything he was set to guard within Eden. So he presses himself a little closer against Crowley, and he reaches out to stroke Grace’s hair, and he waits for any hint of danger.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here we are, at the end of this story! I'm not going to lie, I imagined that this one would take us a bit further into Grace's childhood, but as it falls out this seems a good place to end it. There will be more, because I'm not done with this little family yet (much as they might wish it).
> 
> The next story is looking to be E-rated, and should be a little self-contained thing that you can skip if you want. It's written, so barring massive edits, that should be the case. Then we'll be back to Grace and her growing up, and I'm really excited about that one. 'You Won't Understand' should be updating, too.
> 
> I can't promise anything on timescale, but I'm hoping to write pretty fast. We'll see. I've got a lot of other irons in the fire, as well, for my sins, but I do want to keep going with this one.
> 
> Anyway, here it is. The end of 'Life Had Just Begun', but definitely not of 'Falling From Grace'. Enjoy!

“One,” Aziraphale murmurs as they slide into the Bentley, as if they haven’t already told Grace how old she is at least twenty times today. “You’re a whole year old, Grace!”

“Hard to believe,” Crowley murmurs, but she’s not really paying attention. They haven’t even started moving yet and she’s already scanning the road ahead for threats. Satan has been quiet since their confrontation at the tomb, and it’s freaking her out. She’s spent full hours staring at the television, waiting for a tell-tale crackle, waiting for evidence that Satan is still watching, still listening. She foolishly hoped, when she told him that Grace wasn’t his all those months ago, that he would take the hint and leave her alone. She wasn’t expecting him to intrude so sharply into her life, all these months later, leaving her to feel like a caged zoo animal in her own home.

_ He stole your son, _ she reminds herself irritably, _ how is it that he can still surprise you? _But he’d always seemed to care about her - not beyond a superficial level, perhaps, but still - she’d thought he recognised her agency in the matter. She’d left him for four thousand years, and he’d been fine, and she’d only slept with him twice since then, millennia apart, and he had accepted it. She’d thought he’d accepted it.

_ He never believed you, _ she realises with a start, _ he always thought you were playing a game. _ Grace changed that; she forced him to confront a reality in which Crowley could be loved by somebody else. One in which Crowley could be _ loved_. And Crowley is a favourite toy that Satan has had taken away from him; she’s a prize to be won back.

Aziraphale and Grace stand between Satan and his vision of Crowley, and she is all that stands between him and them. If he decides to remove the competition by force… if he decides to come after them… is she strong enough to protect them?

“Crowley, dear?”

She snaps back to the present; Aziraphale is smiling patiently at her.  
“Are you going to start the car, or would you prefer that I drive?”

“Sorry.” She’ll drive; if she doesn’t have driving to focus on she doesn’t know where her thoughts might take her. Back to that twist in her essence, back to the change she didn’t want, back to that hill and that tomb and the thousands of fears that lie coiled inside her, waiting to strike. “Sorry,” she tells him again, realising that she still hasn’t turned the key. “Off we go, then.”

Aziraphale keeps up a steady stream of inconsequential chatter to fill the silence left by the stereo - Crowley won’t turn it on - until they pull up outside Jasmine Cottage, and Crowley feels her face light up at the sight of a familiar figure.

“Mum!” Adam hurls himself at her the moment she gets the door open, setting the Bentley rocking.

“Adam,” Crowley responds quietly, and wraps him in an almost bone-crushing hug. Aziraphale quietly busies himself with getting Grace out of the car. The rocking motion must wake her, because when Crowley looks round she’s alert and babbling at Anathema, who’s pulling faces.

It’s Newt who sidles up to Crowley, as Adam goes to greet his sister and his favourite angel, and speaks quietly.

“Still on for tonight?”

“Yeah,” Crowley tells him quickly, before he can change his mind, “you?”

“Yeah. Come and have a look, make sure you’re happy.”

“I’m not _ happy_,” Crowley corrects him, and immediately regrets the growl in his voice. Newt is trying to help. They are all trying to help. But Newt doesn’t seem to take it personally; he just leads her into the house - Crowley notices hints of protective witchcraft, recently reapplied, and is reassured - before heading upstairs. Crowley trails in his wake.

“I wouldn’t be, either. When Aziraphale called- but I know you can handle it. I just want you to be sure we’re taking care of her. I was a wreck when we left the twins with my mother the first time-” Perhaps Crowley’s expression has turned dangerous, because Newt glances over his shoulder at her and abruptly changes tack. “So. The twins have their own rooms, now, but they normally both sleep in Lottie’s anyway. They can be noisy at night, so I figured we’d put Grace in Bobby’s.” He pushes the relevant door open as he speaks, and Crowley stares.

“Why-?”

“Nightlight,” Newt points out, clearly sticking to a pre-planned presentation, “monitor - that feeds back into our room, of course, we’ve got one for each room - cot, camp bed-”

“Camp bed?” Crowley really has to demand an explanation for that one.

“Oh. Well, we weren’t sure if… we just want you to know that if one of you _ did _want to stay close, that’s all right by us. And if not, you have a volunteer to stay with her all night.”

“A volunteer.” There’s a lump in Crowley’s throat, and her stomach feels like it’s been filled with lead. What if this is a trick? What if Satan has sent someone posing as some sort of childcare professional - it wouldn’t be the first time - and they have orders to eliminate Grace while she’s here? They shouldn’t leave her, it’s all too dangerous- “Who?”

“Me,” says a voice from the doorway, “if you don’t mind, that is.”

“Adam,” Crowley manages to croak, though the lump in her throat has only grown. “You really want a sleepover with a baby?”

“She’s not a baby, she’s one,” Adam tells her, with a twinkle in his eye, “besides, what are big brothers for?”

“It’s up to you, though, Crowley. You know - who stays, who goes-” Newt wilts as she shoots him a withering glare. “You decide?” he finishes, rather more squeakily than he started, and she sighs.

“I appreciate it, thank you, Adam. I’ll feel a lot better knowing she has you, Newt _ and _Anathema looking after her.” She isn’t sure if she feels better or not, knowing that both of her children are in one convenient location should anyone come after them - but she’s certain that Satan won’t hurt Adam, and Somebody knows her boy’s sent him packing before.

“That’s OK. It must be scary, leaving her. Like the time I had to put Dog in kennels for a few days.”

“As I recall, that was mostly scary for the other dogs,” Crowley tells him gently, “and Dog ended up _ here _within a few hours.”

“Well, yeah, but I still had to be away. I get it. But I’ll take good care of her.”

Crowley tries to take comfort in that fact, as they all troop back downstairs to where Grace has joined the twins in their playpen. Adam doesn’t know of the threat from Satan, because Crowley doesn’t want him to have any _ more _concerns about growing up like his infernal father, and it’s going to stay that way. Which means Crowley has to pull herself together and pretend she’s just being a typical anxious parent, not a paranoid demon on the run from Hell itself.

So she looks at Grace, babbling happily as the twins chat to her about birthdays and how they share one and that’s fun but she’s going to have just as much fun because she’s with them, and she smiles, and then she looks at Aziraphale. Their eyes meet, and suddenly there’s so much she wants to say, so much she wants to tell him, far from all these prying eyes. There are things, too, that she _ needs _to tell him. Things she needs to say, things he needs to hear.

But she doesn’t, because this is Grace’s first birthday, and they are here to celebrate her. She is a gift they never thought they’d receive, a joy they never thought they’d behold, and she is a whole year old today.

“Well done, kid,” Newt tells her solemnly as he hands her a brightly-wrapped present - Anathema is busy keeping the twins from opening it for her - “you’ve gone all the way round the sun, once. That’s a good start.”

And Crowley has never thought of it like that, in terms of orbits, the sky, the stars, and he can tell by the way Aziraphale’s expression has gone all distant that the angel is calculating all the other orbits that Grace must have completed - many, many times around the Earth’s own axis, for example - and all the ones she might in the future.

“Three hundred and sixty-five days,” Anathema adds, her eyes on the twins, “it goes so fast.”

Aziraphale seems to snap out of it and hurries to ‘help’ Grace get the wrapping off of what turns out to be a little wooden push-along train, and Crowley finds herself racing ahead through the years, working out the number of days in two years, in three, in five… in eleven. She missed so many days with Adam - but Adam, now almost sixteen, is sitting right beside her, and he’s eyeing the party food with undisguised longing. Anathema, thankfully, notices and tells everyone to help themselves. Crowley’s not sure who gets more excited over the little cocktail sausages - Adam, or Aziraphale.

There are more presents, of course; most of the ones from Crowley and Aziraphale are at home, already unwrapped and, in most cases, lightly chewed. They had pondered the relative merits and pitfalls of a little wooden Noah’s Ark toy, complete with animals, for weeks, but when Crowley had seen how fascinated Grace was by the unicorn on the TV, barely an hour before he’d been dragged away by Satan, she’d texted Aziraphale to ask him to get it. Noah’s Ark might hold bad memories for both of them, but they both knew Grace would love the toy, and sure enough she had picked up each and every animal and peered at it closely. Then she’d stopped and looked around with a little crumpled frown, as if something was missing, and it had been all Crowley could do to stop himself from giving her the last present they had for her. 

But she’d resisted, so that now, after Adam hands over his gift - a toy cash register that goes ‘ding’ when you open the drawer, and the smirk he gives Crowley leaves her in no doubt that he intends that to be _exactly _the nuisance it will be - Aziraphale is able to produce a final parcel from behind Grace’s ear and hand it to her. Crowley rolls his eyes at Adam, who seems equally embarrassed, but they’re both smiling all the same.

“Crowley? Do you want to help her with this one?”

She climbs into the playpen with a long-suffering sigh and holds the paper just right so that Grace can tear at it with her slightly uncoordinated hands. Newt and Anathema are each juggling a twin and a plate of food, by this point, and she imagines Grace just wants to play with her toys rather than messing around with all this paper. But then the two little unicorn models tumble into her lap and she squeals with delight.

They’d pondered that, too - at least, Crowley had. Was it more important to be accurate to the Ark’s passengers as it sailed, or to commemorate its intended passenger? Aziraphale had looked at her single toy unicorn, carefully imagined in the style of its shipmates, and snapped his fingers to create a matching one.

“Nobody’s lonely on Grace’s Ark,” he told Crowley, and that was that.

Grace is clearly thrilled by all her presents, and when Lottie spots the unicorns she shrieks. “Twins, like us!” and before any of the adults know what’s happening the three children are engrossed in a complex game of their own devising.

There is cake, and they all sing the same song they’ve been singing at Adam’s birthdays for the last three years, and Grace goggles at the candle until Aziraphale leans in to blow it out for her. Crowley tries not to flinch as her angel gets his face so close to the flame, tries not to remember that he could have burned up in Heaven, once.

There’s laughter, and fun, and Crowley gets an almost unbelievable amount of joy out of watching her son play with her daughter and the twins, as if her little family had never been torn apart at all.

As if it’s not going to be again. Because as evening draws in, Crowley forces herself to stand.

“Well, I’d… better be going.” She doesn’t dare look at Aziraphale, afraid he’s changed his mind. She definitely doesn’t dare to look at Grace, who’s trying to scramble under a blanket before Bobby can count - rather haphazardly - to five and come looking for her.

“Oh, is it that time already?” Aziraphale’s voice sounds falsely cheery, but she feels him move to stand beside her. He lowers his voice. “Sure you don’t want to stay?”

“Sure _ you _don’t?” She answers, just as quietly, and he chuckles.

“My dear. You’re so brave, but you don’t have to be.”

“I do,” she tells him, all too aware of the stillness in the room, of their audience. “Just for a little longer.”

Anathema and Newt take the twins into the kitchen, giving the little family that is Crowley’s some space. Adam hovers in the doorway, as if he's not sure he belongs, but Crowley holds out a hand and drags him into a hug.

“I need you to look after her, Adam. I know it’s a lot to ask of you, but… will you do that for me?”

“Of course I will,” Adam assures her, “I’ve looked after babies before.”

“This is your sister, though. You look after each other, all right? And you never stop.” Adam nods, looking a little worried, and then takes a seat on the sofa.

Aziraphale comes to Crowley, Grace in his arms, and the three of them form a huddle.

“You’re going to stay the night here, OK, Gracie? A fun sleepover-” Her voice cracks, and she can’t go on; Aziraphale picks up her thread without a second’s pause.

“- a fun sleepover with the twins, Gracie, and with Adam. You love Adam, don’t you?”

“Adadada,” Grace tells him, and Aziraphale smiles.

“It’s just for one night, though,” he assures her, “we’ll come back and get you tomorrow.” Then he kisses her forehead, and hands her to Crowley, and Crowley kisses her too.

“I’ll come back for you tomorrow,” she tells her daughter, “I promise I’ll come back.”

Then they place Grace in the playpen, hug Adam once more, and walk out before they can change their minds.

It’s only for one night, after all. They can cope.

Aziraphale takes one look at Crowley, standing forlornly outside Jasmine Cottage, and snaps his fingers to whisk them both home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't forget to subscribe to the series so you don't miss the next story. See you soon!


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